There was a collection of love elegies (“Amores”). Based on the poetry of his predecessors, sometimes using traditional motifs of love elegy, the young poet creates poems of a new type, devoid of the sublime character that was characteristic of the interpretation of the love theme by Tibullus and Propertius. Ovid stands firmly on the ground of reality, takes a keen interest in his surroundings, and is endowed with keen observation and wit.
Publius Ovid Naso. Artist Luca Signorelli, c. 1499-1502
He considers aspects of life worthy of poetic depiction that previous elegiac poets did not dare to describe. Ovid boldly takes his readers to the circus, where during the performance the young man can meet a pretty freedwoman.
The galloping of noble horses does not attract my gaze on races,
Let the one you like win, I ask.
I want to sit next to you, exchange a word,
I came to the circus so that you could see my love.
You look at the race, I look at you stubbornly.
Everyone is passionate about their own things, everyone looks at their own things.
(Translated by N.V. Vulikh)
Throwing a playful challenge to serious morality in “Love Elegies,” Ovid declares his love to his mistress and her servant with equal passion:
You know how to comb your hair skillfully, Kipassis,
You are worthy to serve the goddesses themselves in the sky!
I have experienced the charm of your secret caresses: I know
You are dear to the lady, but you are dearer to me than to her.
(Translated by V.V. Vulikh)
He teaches the jealous spouse and gives advice to the lover on how to more skillfully deceive the husband of his beloved. Everyday feelings, pictures Everyday life become objects of artistic depiction in Ovid. Jokes, laughter, and irony penetrate so widely into Roman lyric poetry with his “Love Elegies” for the first time. Many elegies are poetic recitations. One motive in them is skillfully presented in different options. This is how, for example, the 9th elegy of Book I is structured. the main idea set out by Ovid in the first lines, and the entire poem develops and illustrates it with a series of examples and images:
Every lover is a soldier, and Cupid has his own camp,
Atticus, believe me and know: every lover is a soldier.
The age suitable for war is most convenient for Venus,
An old soldier is no good, an old man is disgusted by love.
(Translated by N.V. Vulikh)
Discovering the small world of an ordinary person who sees in love fun entertainment, Ovid, unlike Tibullus and Propertius, focuses his attention not only on the feelings of the poet in love, the author of elegies, but also on the experiences of a woman. Interest in female psychology is already characteristic of these early elegies. Ovid poses in them the problem of the need for a reciprocal feeling and admires its manifestations in his sometimes frivolous and cheerful heroines.
Ovid, a representative of the younger generation of the period of the Principate, who did not go through the fire of civil wars and enjoys the benefits of the “Augustian Peace,” is alien to the painful search for a life position and worldview system. He no longer builds, like Virgil and Horace, a complex system of relationships between man and the surrounding reality. The feelings and psychology of heroes, devoid of any exclusivity, interest him in themselves. Ovid treats the serious moral themes of the “age of Augustus” in “Love Elegies” with irony. The ancient institutions and rules developed by Rome do not seem to him to be something particularly important and significant. The young poet ridicules the marriage laws of Augustus, making fun of the passion for antiquity and admiration for the old religion, which were characteristic of the “official ideology.”
In Iv. BC e. In Rome, like a short-lived flower, the genre of elegy blossomed and quickly faded. Roman elegy did not take over from the ancient Greek elegy of the 7th-6th centuries. BC e. patriotic, political, philosophical motives. She borrowed only the love theme and meter - elegiac distich. What else she relied on, what she imitated, is not clear. At the beginning of the 20th century, it was argued that it goes back to a comedy depicting young lovers, or to a Hellenistic epigram. It was believed then, and is now believed, that the elegy of Hellenistic times could only have an indirect influence because it was “objective,” that is, the poets depicted the passions of mythological characters, and not their own. Unfortunately, the Alexandrian elegies have not survived, and one can only guess about their relationship to the Romans. As it was wittily noted, someday archaeologists in the sands of Africa may find an amphora with papyrus passages written with very “subjective” lines. Then it turns out that it was not for nothing that the Roman elegiacs considered themselves followers of Hellenistic poetry (Prop.III 3, 47-50; III 9, 43-46; Ovid. Ars am. III 329; Trist. I 6, 1-4; Ex Ponto III 1, 57-58, etc.).
The elegiac distich appeared in Rome in the 2nd century. BC e. It was applied to the Latin language by Ennius, who did not write on love themes. Lucilius wrote satyr books with this meter. Neoterics also used it. The last part of Catullus's collection is written in elegiac distich. In addition to short poems, we also find longer ones (65, 66, 67, 68), which we can consider elegies or their predecessors. Poem 68 is especially elegiac.
Apparently, the birth of this genre was neither a sudden nor a mechanical process. Roman elegy arose from the experience of poetry of various genres and different eras. Because its main theme is love, it is usually called a Roman love elegy. Like all works of antiquity, the elegy had clear and definite signs of the genre: its authors did not express their feelings and experiences directly, but using the same images and traditional typological “common places” that wander from elegy to elegy, which in Greek are called , and in Latin - locicommunes. In the works of all the elegiacs we find motifs of the unfortunate poor poet, the rich rival, travel, the greed and power of the beloved, separation, illness, letters, dates, locked doors. However, despite the strict boundaries of the genre, each elegiac managed to create his own poetic world. Marcus Fabius Quintilian wrote: “In the genre of elegy, we are also not inferior to the Greeks. Its most perfect and best creator, in my opinion, is Tibullus. There are people who value Propertius more. Ovid is more dissolute than both of them, Gall is more rude” (X1, 93) 1.
As we see, Quintilian characterizes all four elegics. From the work of the first of them, the founder of the Roman love elegy Cornelia Galla(69-26 BC) only small fragments remain.
Albius Tibullus (54-19 BC) was second. His elegies in manuscripts of the 14th and 15th centuries. preserved along with poems by other unknown authors. Usually all the elegies found there are published together and are called the “Tibullus Collection”. The collection is divided into 4 books. The first two were written by Tibullus. One is dedicated to a lover named Delia. This is a fictitious name, an epithet of the goddess Diana. Whether the book has any plan, or whether it is compiled according to the principle of diversity 2 favored in antiquity, scientists argue. The beloved from Book II is named after the goddess of retribution Nemesis. Both Delia and Nemesis, and the lovers of other elegiacs, are believed to have been women from the lower strata of society, hetaeras or half-hetaeras. The rival, called the husband (coniunx) by the poets, seems most often to have been the wealthy patron of these women.
The list of Tibullus's sources, like those of other Roman poets, is considerable. Some claim that he was influenced by Hellenistic poetry, others hold the opposite opinion. They argue whether Propertius had an influence on Tibullus, or whether Tibullus had an influence on Propertius, etc. The influence of bucolic poetry is also seen, because bucolic motifs are found in Tibullus’s elegies. These debates and comments are valuable and interesting, but it is more important to emphasize the original features of Tibullus's poetry. His work differs from the work of Propertius and Ovid primarily in that Tibullus' contemporaries usually fix the primary image and constantly return to it, but Tibullus does not. This feature of his style was called “slipping of thoughts” (Ideenfluchtung, slenderstyle) 3. Researchers of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th century. they suggested either removing illogical, unnecessary, in their opinion, lines, claiming that they were added by someone later, or rearranging couplets, trying to find their “real” place. However, such efforts came to nothing because, despite the best intentions, it was not possible to find a method that would help distinguish the lines written by Tibullus from the “fake” ones.
Other scholars have tried to prove that elegies based on associative thinking still have a deliberate and precise composition based on the principle of symmetry. These provisions did not convince everyone, and the theory of the “leading motive” (führendeMotiv) appeared. It was argued that the structure of Tibullus's elegy is based on a leading motive, which, being divided into leitmotifs or adding auxiliary motives, still remains the main one. Both of these theories continue to exist to this day, and each of them has supporters.
The pictures of the past, present and future, which the constant “sliding of thoughts” brings and takes away again, in Tibullus’s elegies never stop, are not fixed, they are forever moving, intertwining, changing. The past is always shrouded in a cozy light. The poet not only praises the wine prepared by his grandfathers (II1, 26), but also diligently tries to preserve peasant traditions, rituals, and customs. His dishes are the same as those of his ancestors (I1, 39), and in the house there are figurines of household gods of the Lars, passed down from generation to generation (I3, 34; I10, 15-18). He prefers the modest lifestyle inherent in his ancestors. “Let someone else collect and hoard yellow gold,” he declares, starting the Book of Elegies (I1, 1) 4. This is the same principle of life that Virgil put into the mouth of King Evander: “My guest, make up your mind, and do not be afraid to despise wealth” (Aen.VIII364) 5. Tibullus wants to live quietly in the village, being content with little and not participating in military campaigns (I1, 25-26); he condemns war as the result of greed and a source of profit:
Gold is temptation and guilt: they have never known battles
In the days when I ran like a tender chick at your feet.
A peasant who has raised children and calmly awaits old age is dearer to the poet than a warrior (I10, 39-42). Tibullus sings a hymn to the goddess of Peace, calling her nurse -alma. The world, like Mother Earth, brings fruits and bread, fills the grapes with juice, cultivates the fields, leads the bulls to the arable land (I10, 45-68). Thus, in the poetry of Tibullus we see the Romans' hopes for peace and joy as swords rust and hoe and plow shine.
On the other hand, Tibullus’s elegies also contain militaristic notes. Military campaigns and hundreds of times cursed booty in the house of his friend Messala are not such a bad thing:
You, O Messala, were born to fight on the seas and on land,
So that your enemy's armor will decorate your house.
Tibullus does not want to go on campaigns, but will be happy to listen to stories about the war (I10, 31-32). He is confident that military victories bring glory to the warrior and his relatives (II1, 33-34). Elegy 7 of the book, which glorifies the triumph of Messala after the conquest of Aquitaine, supports the conquest of not only Aquitaine, but also many countries from the Atlantic Ocean to Syria. Thus, in the poetry of Tibullus there is some contradiction, which, by the way, is also characteristic of Propertius. However, it apparently does not mean the authors were inconsistent, since reality itself was contradictory.
The Romans joyfully greeted the peace that reigned after the Battle of Actium. The main thing, of course, was internal peace, peace among citizens. However, as we have already mentioned, Augustus took pride when the sanctuary of Janus was closed at the end of any war. On the other hand, the Romans claimed to be the rulers of the world and were proud of the vastness and power of the empire. We hear an echo of such pride in the poetry of Tibullus:
Rome, for the subject lands your name will remain fatal
Where Ceres looks at her fields from the sky,
Where the day is born, and where the Ocean River
The evening wave of the Sun washes tired horses.
(II5, 57-60) 8.
It is worth noting that these thoughts are similar to the mission of the Romans, stated in the Aeneid through the mouth of Anchises:
Tu regere imperio populos, Romane, memento!
Roman! You learn to rule the people with great power!
Tibullus uses the same word regere (to rule, to rule):
Roma, tuum nomen terris fatale regendis...
Rome, for the lands under your control your name will remain fatal...
Apparently, this idea was firmly entrenched in the minds of the Romans, because it was repeated even by Tibullus, whose elegies, due to the specifics of the genre, did not necessarily have to express this general enthusiasm and enthusiasm.
It is sometimes claimed that Tibullus was in opposition to Augustus, since he never mentioned his name. Of course, the elegiac may not have been delighted with the personality of the princeps, but one cannot help but notice that his work conveys the same sentiments of Roman society on which he relied and which he inspired (both processes occurred, most likely, simultaneously) in his politics August. These are ideas of peace, the greatness of Rome, as well as the revival and preservation of the customs of their ancestors. The past in Tibullus's elegies is not only connected with the present, but actually lives in the present and moves into the future, and time in Tibullus's poetic world is understood as an endless flow of repeating elements. Ancestors are reborn into descendants. Portraits of father and son, grandfather and grandson (parens, filius, natus, proles, avus, nepos) appear in his poetry. The poet says to his friend and patron Messala:
You are the offspring to grow, Messala! Let it multiply
The father's feat, surrounding his old age with honor.
(I7, 55-56) 1 1 .
By placing portraits of a child and an adult (father or grandfather) side by side, Tibullus emphasizes the continuity of generations. This motive is not present in the works of Propertius and Ovid, but it gives the poetic world of Tibullus the features of patriarchal constancy, strength, eternity and harmony.
Tibullus's elegies are also associated with ancient times by descriptions of holidays, rituals (I1, 35-36;I7;I10, 49-52;II1;II2;II5, 95-99), sacrifices (I1, 11-18;I1, 23-24 ;I10, 27-28). In his elegies we find many words from sacred vocabulary (superi, numen, ara, sacrum, hostia, templum, tura, libum, superi, piusetc.). The semantic features of the sacred sphere extend to other spheres, giving them their own shade. The wool of a snow-white sheep, which is spun by a village girl, a sheep, a lamb - these are common everyday phenomena, but this sheep shines (lucidaovis-II1, 62) like the constellations shine (lucidasigna-I4, 20), the white-fleeced lamb (candidusagnus-II5, 38 ) glows with the same divine radiance that surrounds people making sacrifices (candidaturba-II1, 15), and the gods themselves (candida Aurora-I3, 94; candida Pax-I10, 45). In this context, even recently pressed wine (candidamusta-I5, 24) not only looks like a grayish foaming liquid, but also takes on the features of a festive, upbeat, radiant world in which peace and tranquility reign.
However, such an idyll of Tibullus’s artistic world is not absolute: the motive of love brings disharmony into it. The lyrical hero Tibullah constantly complains about the cruelty of Cupid, the infidelity and greed of his beloved, cries, begs, laments, groans, having fallen into her slavery:
My slavery is sad, and my chains depress me;
But Cupid will no longer loosen the wretched man’s bonds.
(II4, 3-4) 1 2 .
It is imperative to emphasize that the lover is not at all interested in the object of love, only his passion, his feelings are important to him: I am so in love that I hang out at her threshold like a gatekeeper (I1, 55-58); I am in so much pain that I cannot find peace anywhere (I2, 76-80); I cannot leave Rome because I am not able to part with my beloved (I1, 4-56; I3, 21-22); I cry and suffer because of her infidelity (I1, 37-38); I’m so in love that I’m ready to do the most difficult jobs for her (I3, 5-10). The young man is offended by a greedy hetera who does not pay attention to his poetry, a cunning pimp, and dangerous rivals. These typical characters are not only memorable signs of the elegiac genre, they also have, in our opinion, a semantic function: they show how many dangers and obstacles await the unfortunate hero, how strong his suffering must be when faced with such difficulties. Images of chains, rods, slavery, and locked doors have the same semantic load. They are needed to make love meaningful.
The poet emphasizes not only the significance of his feeling, but also its exclusivity. Many suffer because of love, but his feelings are special. Cupid hurt many hearts, but “especially me! Wounded, I’ve been lying there for a year already” (II5, 109). The poet shows his love as a special feeling, peculiar only to him. Taking on the role of amator, emphasizing the phenomenality and individuality of his feelings, he stands out from the environment and even becomes hostile to it: let the other go on hikes, and I stay with my beloved (I1, 55; I2, 73-74). He is ready to give up even poetry (II4, 15); opposes himself to nature (II4, 7-10). Exalting his love, the lyrical hero breaks his connection with his ancestors. He declares that he is ready to give up the greatest shrine - his father's house:
If she ordered me to sell my ancestors’ nest, -
Lara, goodbye! Now I will sell everything at auction!
(II4, 53-54) 1 3 .
In elegy 6 of Book II, the death of the little sister of the stern Nemesis, who fell through the window and crashed, is mentioned (II6, 29-40). Undoubtedly, the beloved is not to blame for the tragic accident, but the story about the girl’s death comes after the poet’s reproaches and complaints about the cruelty of Nemesis and makes the portrait of the beloved even gloomier. We have already mentioned that the image of a child often appears in the elegies of Tibullus. Usually it is located next to an adult and looks light, because it is associated with hopes for the future, with the idea of generational continuity. Here, the image of a dead child, covered in blood, seems to once again confirm the denial of tradition and the future.
By breaking these connections, the lyrical hero loses his moral principles. He says about himself that he is ready to commit crimes (II4, 21-24). Separating from his environment, the lyrical hero seems to fall out of the eternal circle along which traditional patriarchal existence moves. He begins to look at life not as an endless series of repeating elements, but as a certain period of time with a beginning and an end. Images of the temporality and fragility of existence appear, a person begins to rush to take advantage of the gifts of life (I1, 69-70; I4, 27-28; I8, 47-48). He forgets about the eternity of life, about the continuous change of generations.
However, this contradiction in Tibullus’s work is neither sharp nor distinct. The main mitigating agent here, perhaps, is the attitude not to assign specific characteristics to the situations in which the lyrical hero acts, to equalize all elements of the artistic world. In Tibullus's elegies there is no plot time, no indication of the place of action, no description of the depicted objects or landscapes. There are many everyday things and phenomena in the work of this elegiac, but their concreteness is destroyed by two things.
Firstly, the festive mood of rituals and sacrifices deprives things of the features of everyday life. Secondly, since the artistic world of elegies exists in an eternal, timeless space, its lexical level loses reality and materiality. Spinning with a splinter, a spinning wheel, skeins of thread, a tow, a girl dozing off at work and other specific details (I3, 83-90) do not exist here independently and in reality, but are the dream and desire of the lyrical hero. Words lucerna, stamina, colus, pensa etc. have not yet become symbols, but everything everyday, real, everyday here is raised to the heights of dreams. Thus, abstracting in his own way all the features of the artistic world of elegies, Tibullus eliminates contradictions, so his poetry breathes harmony and spiritual comfort, which has been fascinating readers for two thousand years.
Sextus Propertius (50-16 BC) was a contemporary and competitor of Tibullus. His biography, like that of Tibullus, is little known. The poet came from the Umbrian town of Assisia, which is currently proud of St. Francis, not the poet of love. Like other writers of the time, Propertius was attracted to Rome. While living there, he published 4 books of elegies.
The texts of Propertius's poems are often complex: they contain many hints that are unclear to readers of our time, the change of topics and sometimes the combination of words are incomprehensible. Perhaps no Roman writer was so “improved” by interpolators as this elegiac. However, Propertius was not subjected to such severe criticism as Tibullus, who was even called crazy. Apparently, this happened because of his extraordinary self-confidence, energy and constant efforts to show his superiority.
Propertius's young man in love is always in a whirlwind of movement and activity. This makes him very different from the melancholy and passive lyrical hero Tibullus. His element is constant tension (III8, 33-34). He writes letters, hurries on dates, quarrels, always breaks up and makes peace again forever, tries to surpass his rivals and win the favor of his beloved. Propertius calls her Cynthia. This is a pseudonym, an epithet of the goddess Diana. However, this is also a very clear allusion to Apollo, since this god often had the epithet “Cinthius” (Call. Hymn. IV 10; Verg. Buc. VI3etc.). Consequently, the name connects Cynthia Propertius with the sphere of poetry and art, which was under the patronage of Apollo.
The deification of the beloved is a common feature of Roman love lyrics. Catullus called Lesbia “my bright goddess” - meacandidadiva (68, 69-70). Elegics call their beloved mistress -domina and see her as an ideal. This is apparently the same admiration as the expression of gratitude that we have already mentioned when talking about Virgil. The beloved is the content of their life, she is their muse. Propertius admits: “No, only my dear inspires me” (II1, 4) 1 4. The poet says that he has no shortage of topics for poetry, because he puts everything into verse: her clothes made of the finest silk, and the curl that falls on her forehead, and how she sleeps, and how she plays the lyre (II1, 5- 12). “I can make a long story out of a trifle,” he admits (II1, 16) 1 5. The image of Cinthia in Propertius is more definite and clear than the image of Delia in Tibullus. Looking at her as if from the outside, the poet describes her like this:
Tall, slender, blond, thin fingers,
He walks proudly - to match the Thunderer to his sister.
(II2, 5-6) 1 6 .
Speaking about her, Propertius adds the epithet docta (I7, 11). This means that Cinthia is educated, writes poetry, plays beautifully (I2, 27-28), dances (II3, 17-18). This capricious and fickle beauty of the demimonde brings the poet a lot of sadness and suffering. Either she is going to travel around Illyria with her gray-haired owner, and the poet has to beg for her to stay (I8), then she is leaving for a fashionable resort, and there is nothing left to do but sigh bitterly (I11). However, the poet’s prayers are persistent, and his sighs are passionate. Passions are boiling inside him. When she falls ill, the lover trembles for her life (II28). The poet feels that he has experienced a lot (I9), that he can give advice to other lovers. Therefore, sometimes didactic notes are heard in elegies.
The poet enters Roman poetry with the same energy. He speaks disparagingly of the epic. Homer to him, as well as to neotericists, seems outdated. In his chosen genre of poetry, his predecessor can only be Mimnermus: “The songs of Mimnermus in love are more valuable than the lines of Homer” (I9, 11) 1 7. However, more than Mimnermus, one must value the Alexandrians Philetus and Callimachus (III1, 1-2). Propertius declares that he is the Roman Callimachus (IV1, 64). Such arrogance of Propertius, his ambitions, and a certain aggressiveness did not please Horace, who laughed at the poet’s pride, considering it some form of madness (Epist.II2, 91-101).
However, the ridicule did not bother Propertius. He felt like a prophet, an inspired singer, a priest of the muses, performing sacred duties (I3, 1-4; IV6, 1). He reflects on the mysterious process of creativity, inspiration and mastery, shows from what sources of inspiration he drinks, hopes for eternal glory (II10, 25-26; III1, 35-36; III3, 5-6). The lines of his elegies are written by the muses (III1, 17-18; III5, 19-20). He's trying to be learned poet and uses many rare elements of myths, their hints and allusions. Scholarship and an abundance of mythology are characteristic features of his poetry. Some unknown details of the myths were apparently not easy to understand and decipher for many of Propertius’s less educated contemporaries. However, the poet achieved this: he constantly tries to make riddles, surprise, amaze readers. To do this, he often comes up with new formations (suavisonus, altisonus, horrifer, velifer, palmiferetc.), uses archaisms (mage, gnatus, astuetc.) and unusual combinations of words, which researchers call too bold. This is also a feature of Alexandrian poetry.
Another trait characteristic of Propertius is his attention to the visual arts. In his elegies we find the names of the famous Greek sculptors Praxiteles (III9, 16), Phidias (III9, 15), Lysippos (III9, 9), Myron (II31, 7), and the artist Apelles (III9, 11). He admires the portico of the sanctuary of Apollo with the statues of the Danaids, the statue of Apollo by Scopas located inside the temple, and the sculptures of bulls by Myron (II31). He describes fountains and their decorations - sculptures (II32, 12-16). It has been noticed that both real objects and dreams, as well as Propertius’ visions, are plastic and visual. It is argued that the poetry of Propertius is characterized by visual perception, a view from the outside.
The book of elegies is dedicated to the love story of Kinthia. In all likelihood, it was called “Kinthia”. The elegies attracted everyone's attention, including the attention of Maecenas. He apparently encouraged Propertius to take on more serious topics. Although in elegy 10 of Book II the poet is about to begin serving other muses, the love motif still predominates in it. In the III book there are notes of farewell to a frivolous beauty. Propertius glorifies the battle of Actium (III11), the beauty of Italy, the power of Rome (III22) and marital love (III12). Apparently, in the last elegy one can find echoes of the policies of Augustus. In an effort to restore the strict morality of his ancestors, the princeps issued laws against adultery and against a bachelor lifestyle. Having abandoned the traditional motifs of elegies in Book IV, Propertius tries to adapt the etiology of Callimachus to the history of Rome: he explains why a certain area is named so, recalls history and mythology.
Propertius's poems are varied: some elegies resemble hymns or prayers, others are letters, others are pantomime scenes, and others are laments in memory of the deceased. The poet constantly tries to communicate with someone, addresses his interlocutors. Some of his poems are serious, others are full of humor. Sometimes you can hear the tones of parody in them. For example, it is believed that, by saying lausinamoremori (II47), Propertius is parodying dulceetdecorumestpropatriamori (Hor.Carm.III2, 13).
The elegies are not composed according to a single model; their structure is very diverse, and it is difficult to detect any system. Two-part poems (two parts) are interesting.
In the I book, even a triple unity is noticeable: interpretation, system and poetics. It is indicated that the first elegies constitute the prologue of the book, then success and failure alternate, and, like a drama, the collection ends in disaster. This book is not a love story, but a picture of a dramatic struggle for love. The composition of other books is not so clear.
Propertius did not live long. Like a meteor, a poet quickly flew through the skies of Roman literature, sometimes called the leader of the Roman rake - caputnequitiae (II24, 6), sometimes the Roman Callimachus (IV1, 64). In his elegies he put the cheerful ringing of feasts, the charm of beauties, the beauty of sculptures in porticos, the intricate lines of myths, echoes of Roman antiquity. He spoke passionately about life and death, love and hate, sadness and joy. However, his poetry is not just the sum of these elements. This is something a little more.
In the Middle Ages, Propertius was forgotten, but the Renaissance found him and handed him over to new times. Inspired by Propertius, I. V. Goethe wrote “Roman Elegies”.
Publius Ovid Naso (43 BC - 18 AD) wrote 5 books of elegies. In his mature years, he revised them with all rigor and, having made a strict selection, published only three. They have reached our time. The poems rejected by the poet disappeared. The books of Ovid's poems form a kind of triptych: the first book contains poems that describe the beginning of love, the second book talks about the culmination of love, its apogee, and the poems in the third book are written on various topics. It sounds like a farewell to your beloved.
The heroine of Ovid's elegies is Corinna. There is an opinion that the Book of Elegies was named by this name and that it was published separately. However, there is no clarity about the name of the entire cycle. It seems that the name Amores 1 8 came from antiquity, but it is not known whether each book was called this, or all the books together. The fact that the author named the heroine of his elegies after the Greek poetess shows that she, like Cinthia in Propertius, apparently understood literature and, perhaps, composed something herself.
Ovid's poetry is unusually light and clear. In one elegy, he paints one picture, expresses one thought. For example, the lyrical hero of the 14th elegy of Book I in the first couplet reproaches his beloved that by dyeing her hair, she became bald:
How many times have I said: “Stop dyeing your hair!”
So the hair is gone, there is nothing to dye now.
(I14, 1-2) 1 9 .
Everything follows from the presented situation. The poet recalls that the hair was long, waist-length, and thin, like Chinese silk. The mention of the Chinese takes us for a moment to a distant land, but the next couplet returns to the hair, because now it is compared to the thinnest threads of a spider's web. In the following lines, their color is recalled, determined by a comparison that also leads to the eastern countries, to the valleys of Ida with slender cedars, the color of the bark of which is similar to the color of Corinne’s hair. However, the next couplet takes us back again: we learn that the hair was manageable and easy to comb. Another comparison takes us to Thrace (“How beautiful she was, she was similar to a Thracian bacchante” - I14, 21), but immediately we must return to Corinne’s boudoir, as the story about styling her hair begins. Mention of gods more younger generation Apollo and Bacchus are an element of the present. In the next couplet, the name of the daughter of the Titans, Dione, recalls past times, but the word pingitur (“that’s how everyone draws her” -I14, 34) shows that ancient goddess also moved to the present (now she is drawn with long hair). Next, Thessaly, famous for its witches, potions, and charms, is mentioned, but this time it had nothing to do with it: it was not witchcraft that destroyed the hair. At the end of the elegy, the Germany mentioned in a few words does not seem very far away, because Corinna will have to wear a wig made from hair cut from a captured German woman. Thus, all the time there is a return to the image of hair given at the beginning of the elegy, which little by little “overgrows” with new details, becomes bright and holistic.
One poem is dedicated to each traditional motif of the elegiac genre. The motif of locked doors, usually called in literature, occupies 10 lines in the poetry of Tibullus (I2, 5-14), and Ovid wrote a poem of more than 70 lines ( I6). Tibullus's comparison of a lover with a warrior fits in two lines (I1, 75-76), and Ovid found words and images for an elegy of 46 lines (I9). Separate elegies are written on the themes of a date (I5), a pimp (I8), a letter (I11), separation (I13), a gift (II15) and other usual topics. Therefore, Ovid's elegies give the impression of an encyclopedia of love.
Each motive is presented inventively, each association is complete. It was not for nothing that Ovid studied rhetoric, which advised him to find what to say about each thing or subject. The main advice was this: if you want to be able to talk about any object, you need to break it down into parts and discuss each part separately. Ovid does just that. For example, theme 4 of the elegy of Book II is the statement: all the women of Rome delight me. The poet shares it: they attract me with their character, education, abilities, and appearance. Further, the division becomes even more detailed: I am fascinated by the modest, daring, stern (character); capable of appreciating Callimachus and me (education); tall, short, light, dark, with golden skin (appearance). All this is inventively woven, analogies from myths are also drawn, and the result is an elegant poem.
We see the same decomposition of the motive into details and description of each element in the comparison of the lover with the warrior (I9). The poet lists the moments of a warrior’s life, arguing that the same situations befall a lover: guards, reconnaissance, long tiring roads, constant duty. Both must be young and passionate. Mythological examples are used to prove these points.
Unfortunately, Ovid's rhetoric lessons did not bring him much success. In the 19th century and at the beginning of the 20th century, he received a lot of contemptuous reviews from researchers. It has been argued that his elegies do not reflect true feeling, that they are filled with cold rhetoric. It should be noted that scientists have generally written a lot of ink, arguing where all three elegics have true feelings, and where is the pose, locus communis. However, the following must be kept in mind. Firstly, there is no method that helps to see true or untrue things behind the “common place”, behind the mask. Secondly, everything that is in the elegies is artistic truth; looking from the other side, it is artistic fiction. In other words, if Tibullus and Propertius say that they are not rich, this is the reality of their artistic world, not their biography, and we must believe in it. If Ovid in one elegy swears eternal love for Corinna, in another he fawns over her maid, and in the third he convinces that he can be in love with two beauties at the same time, we must think that he speaks sincerely, because this is the truth of his poetic world.
Now almost no one considers rhetoric to be Ovid's great sin, but another version of the same point of view has become popular. It is argued that Ovid's speeches should not be taken at face value, that the poet always speaks frivolously, with irony, offering a caricature of love, parodying Propertius. We can believe that both points of view arose not out of hatred, but out of love for Ovid, although the authors sometimes seem to be unaware of it themselves. These points of view apparently arose from apologetic motives. Previously it was explained that the poet is serious, only his insensitive poems are dissolute, but now they convince him that he is not straightforward, that his elegies should not be understood directly, but considered a parody. Undoubtedly, one can interpret them this way, but, in all likelihood, one can think differently.
Firstly, when very young, Ovid began with elegies, a fashionable, beloved and tried genre, and, having read them publicly, immediately became famous (Trist.IV10, 57-60). It is unlikely that a sixteen-year-old boy would have been understood and appreciated by Messala and other older literary connoisseurs if he had written completely unusual poems. Secondly, the poet takes his work seriously; in several program poems he considers himself an elegiac poet: he is proud that he is an elegiac singer of love (I1), hopes for greater fame and the patronage of Apollo (I15), thinks that his work helps lovers endure and rejoice (II1), considers himself a knight of the muse of Elegy (III1). Thirdly, at the end of his life in “Sorrowful Elegies,” looking back at his work, he would certainly have pointed out the figurative meaning of the elegies of love, if such a thing existed. Fourthly, everyone affirms with one voice that Ovid’s poems are very coherent and light. He speaks simply and clearly, and does not try to shock either with the order of sentences or with unusual words or their connections. The poet himself created such an image of himself, reporting that he was unable to speak in prose:
My father often told me: “Leave this useless business!
Even if you take a Meonian, how much wealth has he acquired?
I was not deaf to my father’s words: leaving Helikon,
Overcoming himself, he tried to write in prose -
The words themselves formed into measured lines,
No matter what I try to say, everything turns out to be poetry.
(Trist.IV10, 21-26) 2 0 .
It is not known whether the poems actually flowed by themselves, or whether Ovid wisely hid the traces of labor and craft, but the lightness of his poetry is a very important feature that has a huge semantic load: it asserts reckless frivolity, full of youthful joy of life. Thus, the light form corresponds to the frivolous content of the elegies. It would seem that this is what Ovid meant when he said that he is tenerorumlusoramorum (Trist.III3, 73;IV10, 1). The poet plays with poetry, plays with form, plays with love and creates the impression of a world overflowing with vital joy and clarity. Here everything is clear, smooth, easy, and when there are no obstacles, it’s simply boring (Am.II19, 25-26).
As we have seen, the Roman love elegy consists almost exclusively of the necessary genre signs. However, by manipulating them, the elegics were able to create poems that were unlike each other. The fragile and gentle Tibullus, the temperamental and learned Propertius, the cheerful and carefree, frivolous Ovid gave hundreds of generations of readers many pleasant moments, and the literature of Europe - the motives of serving the mistress of the heart and phraseological units: love slavery, love torments, love chains, an unhappy lover, cruel Cupid, love flame, love bonds etc.
LITERATURE
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Cairns F. Tibullus. A Hellenistic Poet at Rome. Cambridge, 1979.
Critical Essays on Roman Literature: Elegy and Lyrik. London, 1962.
Day A. A. The Origin of Roman Love Elegy. Oxford, 1939.
Drews H. Der Todesgedanke bei den römischen Elegikern. Kiel, 1952.
Eckert V. Untersuchungen zur Einheit von Properz I. Heidelberg, 1975.
Estève-Forriol J. Die Traue und Trostgedicht in der römischen Literatur. Munich, 1962.
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Fränkel H. Ovid: A Poet Between Two Worlds. Berkeley-Los Angeles, 1945.
Frécaut J. M. L'esprit et l'humour chez Ovide. Grenoble, 1972.
Groth H. Quaestiones Tibullianae. Halis, 1872.
Gruppe O. Die römische Elegie. Leipzig, 1938.
Henkel P. Untersuchungen zur Topik der Liebesdichtung. Insbruck, 1956.
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Jacoby F. Zur Entstehung der römischen Elegie. / RhM, 1905, 69, 38-105.
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Leo F. Elegie und Komödie. / RhM. 1990, 55, 604-611.
Lilja S. The Roman Elegist’s Attitude to Women. Helsinki, 1965.
Luck G. Die römische Liebeselegie. Heidelberg, 1961.
Meyer H. Die Aussenpolitik des Augustus und die Augusteische Dichtung. Cologne, 1961.
Morgan K. Ovid's Art of Imitation: Propertius in the Amores. Leiden, 1977.
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Sullivan J. P. Propertius. Cambridge, 1976.
Schuster M. Tibull-Studien Wien, 1930.
Swoboda M. Tibullus. Poznan, 1969.
Swoboda M. Sextus Propertius. Poznan, 1976.
Tränkle H. Die Sprachkunst des Properz und die Tradition der Lateinischer Dichtersprache. Wiesbaden, 1960.
Wimmel W. Kallimachos in Rom. Wiesbaden, 1960.
Wimmel W. Der frühe Tibull. Munich, 1968.
Wimmel W. Tibull und Delia. Wiesbaden, 1976.
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Publius Ovid Naso (43 BC - 18 AD) wrote not only elegies. He was the last great Roman poet. When he created his most significant works, Virgil, Propertius, Horace had already died, and of the many contemporaries and friends who wrote poetry, not one was as generously gifted with talent as he was. No one could compare with him later, although Roman literature flourished for about two hundred years.
Ovid lived in a calm time. The last civil wars took place when the poet was a child. During the years of his adult life, the republican system, wounded in those wars, agonized and eventually faded away. However, as we mentioned, some did not notice this, others, considering that this was not the main thing, resigned themselves to it. A new generation of Romans grew up. According to Tacitus, “Inside the country everything was calm, the same unchanged names of officials; those who were younger were born after the battle of Actium, even the elderly, and most of them during the civil wars. How many were still left who saw the republic with their own eyes? (Ann.I3) 1 .
The poet's relationship with the Augustan Principate was complex. In his youth, he declared that he did not care about politics or the traditional customs of his ancestors and that he only worshiped the muses and Cupid (Am.I15, 3-6). Later, he was apparently impressed by some aspects of the ideology of the Principate (in the Metamorphoses and Fasti we find descriptions of Roman customs and pride in the power of Rome), but this did not save Ovid from exile.
The poet was from the center of Italy, the Sulmona region. The father, a wealthy peasant from the equestrian class, took his two sons to Rome, who had completed primary school in their homeland, in the hope that, having received an education, they would become politicians and be accepted into the senatorial class. Ovid's brother died young, and the future poet studied well and delighted fellow students and teachers at the rhetoric school with his speeches (Sen.Rhet.II2, 8-12). Then, as was customary, he studied philosophy and rhetoric in Athens and Asia Minor, and was interested in Greek art and literature, but his father’s dreams were not destined to come true.
True, upon returning home, the son, like other Romans, began with modest positions in court, but neither political nor legal activities attracted him. Although his father was dissatisfied, Ovid quit his service and lived his entire life as a homoprivatus (private person). We have already mentioned that he was already famous even before the publication of the first book of Love Elegies. It is not clear what works Ovid wrote after the appearance of the elegies. The last elegy contains references to tragedy. Therefore, it is believed that after the elegies he created the tragedy “Medea,” which had great success, but has not reached our time.
There is controversy over when the poet wrote the collection “Heroids”. These are letters from women - heroines of myths - to their beloved men. Penelope writes to Ulysses, Helen to Paris, Ariadne to Theseus, Medea to Jason, etc. The messages are written in elegiac distich. Some think that Ovid wrote the Heroides at the same time as the love elegies, others argue that he became interested in myths later, after publishing the revised elegies and planning to write large epic works.
The situation of all the poems is the same - separation, but the letters are not the same or monotonous. All of them were written at a tense, critical moment, therefore they are emotional, dramatic, even tragic. Sometimes these are monologues or letters to nowhere, because, for example, Penelope does not know where to send a letter to Odysseus, and Ariadne, abandoned, perhaps on a desert island, has no one to send this letter through. Despite the generality of the situation, the letters are not similar to one another, because Ovid perfectly reveals the character and mood of each heroine: the passionate seductress Phaedra writes in her own way, otherwise the faithful Penelope, the letters of those abandoned and unable to live without their loved ones breathe with hopelessness, Phyllida, Dido , Kanaki. The genre of this work is not entirely clear. Some consider it a continuation of the epistolary genre, popular in Hellenistic literature, others - a continuation of the elegy genre.
Tired of glorifying beauties and feeling enough experience in himself, Ovid took on the role of a mentor in love (Arsam.II161) and published the didactic poem “The Art of Love” written in the same elegiac distich (another translation option is “The Science of Love” - translator’s note ). The advice of the first two books of the poem is addressed to men.
In the I book, the poet lists the places where you can watch beauties (porticos, forums, theaters, circuses, the resort of Bailly, etc.), discusses the role of a maid in a love affair, advises writing love letters, curling and dyeing your hair, putting on a clean toga , brush your teeth and nails, rinse your mouth, do not be put off by the smell of sweat. You can promise a lot, but you don’t have to keep your promises; women’s hearts are bowed by tears, humiliation, and a pale face.
Book II gives advice on how to maintain the attention and love achieved: the poet thinks that no love drinks and charms will do this, you need to try to be kind, not swear, give compliments, be indulgent, fulfill desires and whims, not be late for anything, more gifts promise rather than give. Women usually don’t appreciate poetry and Homer would be driven away, but there are also scientists, and some pretend to be scientists, and poetry is suitable for such people. You constantly need to show your attentiveness, especially take care of her when she gets sick, but do not bother her. You can be unfaithful, but you have to hide it. You should tolerate your opponent calmly; you should not set a trap for him.
Book III is addressed to women. The poet advises how to do hair, mentions makeup, indicates what color clothes suit women of what appearance, encourages to be clean, understand literature, learn to play, dance, sing, teaches how to write letters, how to elude watchmen, reminds how Over-the-top, drunken women at the feast look disgusting.
“The Art of Love” apparently was not Ovid’s first didactic work. Speaking about women's cosmetics, he admits that he wrote a special essay on this topic (Arsam.III205-206). One hundred lines from him have been preserved: an introduction and advice on skin care. The chosen topic probably did not surprise anyone: as we have already mentioned, the fashion for various didactic works came from Hellenistic literature. To those who cannot bear the torment of love, the poet dedicated his last didactic poem, “Medicines for Love,” which teaches how to arouse in oneself disgust for a person who has wounded the heart.
After writing these didactic poems and publishing revised youthful elegies, Ovid took up the serious mythological epic Metamorphoses. He has been working on it for about eight years and at the same time writing the poem “Fasty” (“Holiday Calendar”). The last one remained unfinished. The poet wrote 6 books in which he described the holidays of the first six months of the year in an elegiac distic. Ovid, like Propertius, turns from the theme of love to Roman rites, customs, and religion. In this poem he explains the origin of the holidays and describes their rituals. The poem is dedicated to Augustus (Trist.II 549-552; Fast. II 15-16). It also corresponded to the ideology of the Principate, because it was relevant during the revival of forgotten cults, the construction and restoration of temples, and the glorification of the customs of ancestors.
In the autumn of 8 AD e. "Metamorphoses" was completed. The poet, who recently celebrated his fiftieth birthday, was in no hurry to publish them, but he corrected and improved some things. Suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, disaster struck. A messenger arrived at Ovid, who was visiting the estate of one of his friends, demanding that he urgently go to Augustus. He angrily attacked the poet and announced a decree regarding his expulsion. There was no investigation or trial. The first man of the state very rarely exercised the right to issue edicts in his own name. The initiative of Augustus in exiling Ovid shows two things: firstly, they wanted to deal with the poet urgently, and secondly, they attached great importance to this punishment. The Romans had two forms of exile: exilium, when a person’s civil rights are taken away, property is confiscated, but he can live anywhere except Rome and Italy, and relegatio, when property and rights are retained, but a specific place to live is assigned. The poet received the second form of exile, which was considered easier. He was deported to the city of Tomy at the mouth of the Danube, modern Constanta. It was necessary to leave immediately.
It is unknown why Ovid was suddenly expelled so unexpectedly. The poet himself mentions two reasons: carmen and error (Trist. II 207). Carmen is the poem "The Art of Love" that was declared the official reason for the exile. Error - mistake, mistake, error. What Ovid means is not clear. Previously, researchers wondered: maybe the poet was the lover of Augustus’s wife or daughter, maybe he violated the sanctity of some mysteries. Many opinions have been expressed, 2 but the two most popular types of alleged reasons remain: moral misconduct or participation in political intrigue.
A scientist who saw camp times in a totalitarian state suggested that there was no guilt. Since it was somehow inconvenient to punish only for a poem published seven years ago (such cases were not yet common at that time), since the poet could sue and defend himself regarding the poems (he did defend himself), Ovid was told something like this: “ You are guilty not only because of the poem, but also because of something else, and go to the north of the empire.” The poet speaks so vaguely about his “mistake” because he himself does not know why he was expelled. He guesses just like us.
The poem “The Art of Love” was removed from public libraries and banned as a work harmful to public morality. However, despite the prohibitions, it did not disappear and has survived to this day. After reading it, we see that there are no obscene words or openly erotic pictures. In an essay of 2340 lines, about twenty lines are devoted to the technique of sex, and they are presented with taste, covered with a veil of allusions. However, the poem is undoubtedly frivolous. Although Ovid notes that he is not writing for matrons (Ars am. I 31-34), the poem is still intended for deceived husbands and women seeking love affairs. It does not glorify marital fidelity or love between spouses. Some researchers see in it a polemic with Augustan laws protecting marriage and morality, as well as criticism of the restoration policies of the princeps.
And yet the poem, apparently, was not to blame for much of anything. Everyone understood that Ovid could not spoil people. There was a struggle for power. Augustus had no sons. He had no legal basis to leave his place to the heir, since he was not a monarch, but he could recommend to the Senate and the Roman people any suitable person. His wife Livia, who had a son Tiberius from her first marriage, was afraid of this and wanted for him the name of the first person in the state. Knowing that Augustus was looking at his male relatives in the Julian family, she tried to destroy them with poison and other means. Livia was a very smart and cunning woman. According to Suetonius, Augustus, knowing this, spoke to her only from a note prepared in advance (Aug. 84). She may have had a hand in having the two Julias (August's daughter and granddaughter) expelled for their dissolute behavior. Julia the Younger (granddaughter) went into exile several months earlier than Ovid. Now it became calm: there was only one contender for the place of Augustus - Tiberius, but it was unpleasant that the Yuliev family became so ugly. Perhaps, wanting to reduce this shame, they found a scapegoat, Ovid, accusing him of writing a poem that corrupted morals, which could lead both Julias astray from the righteous path.
This was a terrible blow for the poet, who had hitherto been spoiled by Fortune. Out of grief, he burned the manuscript of Metamorphoses and tried to commit suicide. Both the poem and the poet were saved by friends. Of the many friends who loved Ovid’s hospitable home, in difficult times only two remained who dared to come to console and see off the poet. They rewrote Metamorphoses earlier and quickly published them after Ovid’s departure.
The road to Tomy lasted six months. Then the newcomer was oppressed for a long time by the difficulties of adaptation. Poetry saved him: in exile, Ovid wrote “Sorrowful Elegies” and “Letters from Pontus.” In addition, he wrote the poem “Ibis” 3, full of curses to an unknown person, an essay about the fish of the Black Sea, of which 134 lines remain, as well as several short works that have not survived. The poet spent ten years in Tomy. Neither the requests of his wife who remained in Rome, nor the requests of friends, nor his own requests for a commutation of punishment were heard. The poet really wanted at least his ashes to return to his native land, but this desire was not destined to come true: in 18 AD. e. Ovid was buried in Tomi. In exile, he wrote that his life had suffered the same terrible metamorphosis, many of which he sang in his famous epic.
"Metamorphoses" are about 250 myths that have an element of metamorphosis, written in hexameter. Greek - re-, - form. Metamorphosis is a transition from an existing image, transformation.
Most of all we find cases of a person turning into an animal or plant: Lycaon becomes a wolf (I); Io - cow (I); Cykn - swan (II); Actaeon - deer (III); daughters of Minias - bats (IV); Cadmus and Harmony - snakes (IV); Arachne - spider (VI); Daphne (I), Heliades (II), Leucothoe (IV), Philemon and Baucis (VIII), Dryope (IX), Cypress (X), Myrrha (X), Apul (XIV) become trees; Narcissus (III), Clytia (IV), Hyacinth (X), Adonis (X) turn into flowers; nymph Syringa (I) - into reeds, etc. We also encounter transformations into minerals: Butt becomes flint (II); Aglavra - a statue made of black stone (II); tears of Heliad - amber (II); Niobe (VI), Lichas (IX), Olen and Lethea become stones. There are other transformations: Callisto, transformed into a bear, becomes the constellation Ursa Major (II); nymphs Kiana and Arethusa (V) - by rivers; nymph Echo - echo (III); Aeneas (XIV), Romulus and his wife (XIV), Caesar (XV) - gods. There are also reverse metamorphoses: a person appears from clay (I), from stones thrown by Deucalion and Pyrrha (I), curetes are born from rain (IV), Tagetos grows from the earth (XV).
The transformations taking place in the poem are not manifestations of some kind of retribution or acts of justice. It's like an eternal spontaneous process. Sometimes transformed people are victims of the wrath or envy of the gods, sometimes transformation is punishment, and sometimes salvation. People or deities who find themselves in a hopeless situation ask the gods to transform them into something else (usually a plant) in order to escape from an offender or persecutor. Sometimes they lose their appearance due to destructive love. Without emphasizing the logic of metamorphosis, the poet creates a picture of an ever-changing and moving world.
Metamorphosis is a common element in fairy tales. In fairy tales of all nations we encounter many transformations. However, although metamorphosis is always surprising and an atmosphere of wonder surrounds the poem, Ovid's Metamorphoses is not a folk epic. The poem has a philosophical subtext, which is revealed and becomes text at the beginning and end of the poem, creating an important semantic frame.
“Metamorphoses” begins with a picture of chaos: an unclear primary mass is spread everywhere, there is no Sun, no Moon, no Earth. Next, Ovid introduces the image of the demiurge: God gradually creates a world in which every natural body receives a place and begins to function in accordance with the established order. God sets the boundaries of all phenomena, and out of chaos little by little forms the cosmos - a harmonious, orderly world. After such an introduction, many different pictures with metamorphoses are replaced. At the end of the poem, the poet, through the mouth of the sage Pythagoras, seems to explain their meaning and meaning. Pythagoras emphasizes the constant, unceasing movement of matter: “there is no constant in the universe” (XV177) 4. The sage considers metamorphosis to be a manifestation and method of the eternal movement of matter:
“[...] The heavens change and everything under them
Its form, and the earth, and everything that exists under it.”
Pythagoras compares the eternal variability of matter with the eternal immutability of the immortal soul:
"[...] the soul, remaining
By the same means, as I teach, he passes into various flesh.”
Pythagoras claims that everything that is alive came from one divine soul, embodied in many earthly bodies and passing from one body to another: from a wild beast to a man, from a man to a beast, etc. The main thing is that this soul is of an ideal nature “It will not disappear forever and ever” (XV168). The sage assures that because of metempsychosis, a person should love everything that is alive and not eat animal meat. The plowman who, having removed the harness from the back of the bull, plunges an ax into it, is ungrateful and unworthy of bread. “What vileness - really! - hide the womb in the womb! / To grow fat with a greedy body by eating the same body” (XV88-89), says the philosopher, advising eating fruits, bread, milk, honey.
As we see, through the mouth of Pythagoras, Ovid proclaims the idea of cyclicity, popular in ancient times, that the cosmos is eternally born, blossoms, dies, and eternally moves in a circle. The ideal world constantly emanates into the world of things and returns again to its ideal beginning.
Therefore, metamorphosis does not only mean transformation. It also expresses the connection and unity of the elements of the world, since all bodies appear one from another, and the soul passes from one body to another without change. Metamorphosis also shows the eternity of the world, because nothing ends in death, but only in transformation. The abundance of metamorphoses is not chaos, but the law of the universe, and Ovid’s poem perfectly reflects the wave-like picture of the world changing every moment. Thus, the poet conveyed to the people of antiquity the idea of unity and harmony of the cosmos that was dear to him.
Except philosophical thoughts, there are also political ones in Metamorphoses. The fact is that Ovid turns the continuous chain of transformations to Roman history. Fallen Troy is reborn in Rome, the poet talks about its kings, glorifies Julius Caesar and Augustus, and is proud of the power of Rome. Pythagoras says that Rome was the world capital - caputurbis (XV435). He quotes Gehlen's prophecy:
I already see the capital that is assigned to the Phrygian grandchildren.
There is not and there will not be such a thing and there hasn’t been in past years!
Noble years will exalt her, glorify centuries.
But Iul was born into the mistress of states only from the blood
He can build it.
Some scholars, not paying attention to the glorification of Caesar and Augustus, evaluate the Metamorphoses as an oppositional work. They consider the epic to be a mythological narrative with political dimensions and argue that Ovid, in recounting various myths, speaks figuratively of his times. They select certain political analogies for the myths about Gigantomachy, the battle between Apollo and Python, the flood, Phaethon, Arachne, and Niobe; they believe that Ovid identifies Cadmus, Pentheus, and Hercules with Augustus. It is argued that Ovid was an opponent of the ideals of Augustus. Some elements of the myths seem to be directed against the puritanism of Augustus; Apollo, considered the patron saint of Augustus, is depicted as hostile to people, the gods are generally frivolous, and the kings are immoral. It is concluded that not only The Art of Love, but also the Metamorphoses was the reason for Ovid's exile. It is argued that, by negatively depicting Jupiter, the poet meant Augustus, that he was criticizing the Aeneid or polemicizing with it.
When a real life analogue is sought for each myth or its element, the meaning of the poem is greatly narrowed and its significance is diminished. Therefore, it is more pleasant to read authors who say that “Metamorphoses” is neither an interpretation of history nor a poem depicting the times of Augustus, that it reflects life in general, its comedy, pathos, cruelty, grotesqueness or macabreism, that the poem is full of wordplay, images, allusions.
The poet interprets selected myths in an original way, revealing metamorphosis even where the myth does not emphasize it, since it is not the hero of the myth, but episodic characters who change and turn into something: for example, the tears of Heliad become amber, and they themselves become poplars (II340-366) , Meleager's sisters become chickens (VIII535-546), etc.
The main sources of Ovid's poems - catalogs of myths from Hellenistic times - have not survived, and it is difficult to talk about the poet's attitude towards them, however, researchers find the influence of Homer, Hesiod, Greek tragedians, especially Euripides, as well as the Alexandrians. It is stated that the idea of perpetuum carmen (continuous song) was borrowed from Callimachus, but the chronological presentation of the myths was invented by Ovid himself; They are also influenced by the Roman tragedian Pacuvius and Virgil.
In order for the collection of metamorphoses not to be a meaningless mixture, Ovid needed to somehow connect the collected myths. The poet realized that the philosophical idea would be a somewhat weak connection, that formal compositional connections were also necessary, and called on the chronological principle to help. In the introduction, he admits that he intended his continuous song (carmenperpetuum) to lead from the beginning of the world (aprimaoriginemundi) to his time (admeatempora) 8. Books I and II are dedicated to very ancient times: the origin of the universe, the first people, the flood, etc. Books III-IV - mythological Theban period. Myths not from the Theban cycle are also included here: about Narcissus, Pyramus and Thisbe, the exploits of Perseus. They are, however, slightly connected with Thebes, since they mention the East, and the founder of Thebes, Cadmus, arrived from Asia Minor. Books VI and VII are the times of the Argonauts; Books VIII-XI include myths about Hercules, who lived in the same times as the Argonauts. They are joined by other stories that do not have a strict chronological place. In the XII and XIII books the myths of the Trojan cycle are retold, and at the end of the work (XIV-XV) - Roman myths.
The poem is divided in another way. It is stated that it consists of the following parts: 1) prologue and cosmogony (I1-451); 2) gods (I452-VI420); 3) heroes and heroines (VI421-XI 193); 4) history (XI194-XV870). The following structure of this epic is proposed: 1) comedy of the gods (I and II); 2) love of the gods (III1-VI400); 3) love passions (VI401-XI793); 4) Troy and Rome (XII-XV). Such parts, seen by researchers, may not be accidental; perhaps the poet accumulated myths of one theme, however, such a composition, apparently, should be considered either unconscious, that is, the result of the activity of the poet’s subconscious, or secondary, because Ovid himself divided poem into books and they were published in separate scrolls (Trist.I117). It is hard to believe that a poet in the middle of a book would finish one part and begin another.
To prevent the reader from getting bored with the story, Ovid uses the already mentioned principle of diversity, or diversity, common in antiquity: he replaces a longer story with a shorter one, a sad one with a cheerful one, a sad one with a terrible one, a solemn one with an ironic one. The work is also varied in terms of genre: some stories look like elegy (Cyclops and Galatea - XIII); others on the idyll (Philemon and Baucis -VIII); third for the hymn (glorification of Bacchus -IV); the fourth for tragedy (the dispute between Ajax and Ulysses over armor - XIII) or for the heroic epic (the battle of the centaurs and Lapiths - XII). The poet’s favorite frame composition also helps to avoid monotony: stories about other transformations are put into the mouths of characters who have already transformed or are about to transform into something. Sometimes two, sometimes three, and sometimes even seven episodes are framed this way.
Therefore, metamorphosis is a versatile element of this poem. It is not only the theme of the work, but also a change in the type of narrative, the basis of the structure of the poem. Readers are attracted to unexpected twists of thought and form.
The images of the poem are plastic and visible. Ovid likes to accurately define movement and pose: entering the low hut of Philemon and Baucis, the gods bend down (VIII638), the shadow of the wounded Eurydice slowly slides (X48), crying herself, Alcmene wipes the tears from Iola’s cheeks with her finger (IX395). What a sculptural group looks like is Diana getting ready to swim and the nymphs surrounding her: the squire takes the arrows, bow and dart of the goddess, clothes fall onto the outstretched arms of another, two take off their sandals, another nymph ties Diana’s loose hair in a knot (III165-170).
“Sorrowful Elegies” is, as it were, the antipode of “Love Elegies”. In a youthful work, the carefree joy of life flows over the edge, and the poems created at the end of life are full of pain, despair, groans, groans and the heavy breathing of death. They are written in elegiac distich. By burning Metamorphoses, Ovid seemed to say goodbye to creativity. Then, on a ship caught in a storm, he suddenly felt that lines were being born in his head. It seemed like some kind of miracle to him. The poet grabbed a writing stick and began to write again. Since the road to Tomy lasted six months, he created the Book of “Sorrowful Elegies” and immediately sent it to Rome. Then every year, with the beginning of the navigation season, The eternal City a new book of elegies was arriving. The last, fifth, apparently was written in 13 AD. e.
Subsequently, Ovid began to devote elegies to various people, and in 14-16. n. e. Three more books of elegies appeared, called “Letters from Pontus.” The theme of the elegies-letters is the same as the earlier poems - exile. The principle of their writing remains the same. Ovid took advantage of his experience in writing love elegies: he himself came up with “common passages” and consistently adhered to them. In the poetry of exile, the same images are repeated: the uncomfortable steppe, harsh winters, attacks by enemies, the incomprehensible speech of long-haired natives, the lack of books, etc. By rearranging them in every possible way, the poet conveys the main theme of the poetry of exile - the feeling of loneliness.
Ovid's loneliness is different from that of the romantics of modern times, who considered themselves the center of the universe. The ancient poet feels cut off from the real world and longs to return to it again. He lives in a wild region, recently conquered by the Romans, where the Greeks, who once founded the city, almost disappeared, forgot their language, were uneducated, where there was no one to talk to in Latin, where no one was interested in philosophy, disputes over a new book or other literary events. Therefore, the poet is infinitely lonely. He groans, complains, begs Augustus to moderate his anger and allow him to settle at least in Greece.
Because of these complaints and requests, some modern philologists reproach the poet for insignificance and weakness of spirit, and claim that Ovid in exile lost the dignity of a man and a poet. Regarding the strength of spirit, there is a good answer for them: only those who were expelled and did not break, who did not ask the ruler for anything, did not remain silent, but protested, have the moral right to accuse Ovid. Accusations about the loss of human dignity, written in the quiet of comfortable offices, do not indicate the generosity of the authors and are almost immoral. Such accusations are completely unfounded. Statements that, based on the experienced feelings and experiences, the poet could have created a more impressive work, the desire to see an open wound in the poet’s heart reveals a very self-centered position of the author of such criticism. Only new times require original disclosure from poetry, but in antiquity readers heard the poet’s complaints through “commonplaces” that followed one after another. They also heard the poet’s restrained but firm protest against his lot, which some researchers even consider a rebellion, as well as a request for a mitigation of fate, expressed in accordance with the customs of that time.
Ovid’s work was not destroyed by “neither sword, nor fire, nor greedy old age” (Met.XV872). The mentioned reproaches and accusations also cannot harm him. The poet's name has always been pronounced with respect, and his work gave impetus to later literary artists. His Philemon and Baucis settled in “Faust” by J. V. Goethe, and Pyramus and Thisbe - in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” by W. Shakespeare. In addition, these two heroes of Ovid are believed to have inspired the great playwright to create Romeo and Juliet.
LITERATURE
Bernbeck E. J. Beobachtungen zur Darstellungsart in Ovids Metamorphosen. Munich, 1967.
Bömer F. P. Ovidius Naso. Metamorphosen. Heidelberg, 1986.
Dorrie H. Pygmalion. Ein Impuls Ovids und seine Wirkungen bis in die Gegenwart. Düsseldorf, 1971.
Due O. S. Changing Forms. Copenhagen, 1974.
Frankel H. Ovid. Berkley and Los Angeles, 1945.
Frécaut J.-M. L'esprit et l'humour chez Ovide. Grénoble, 1972.
Galinsky G. K. Ovid’s Metamorphoses. An Introduction to the Basic Aspects. Oxford, 1975.
Gieseking K. Die Rahmenerzählung in Ovids Metamorphosen. Tubingen, 1964.
Gutmüller H. B. Beobachtungen zum Aufbau der Metamorphosen Ovids. Marburg, 1964.
Jacobson H. Ovid's Heroides. Princeton, 1974.
Lafaye G. Les Métamorphoses d'Ovide et leurs modèle Grecs. New York, 1971.
Lundström S. Ovids Metamorphosen und die Politik des Kaisers. Uppsala, 1980.
Ovid. Wege der Forschung. Darmstadt, 1968.
Ovidiana. Paris, 1958.
Otis B. Ovid as an Epic Poet. Cambridge, 1970.
Schmitt F. Pyramus und Thisbe. Heidelberg, 1972.
Schmitzer U. Zeitgeschichte in Ovids Metamorphosen. Stuttgart, 1990.
Spot Fr. Ovids Heroides als Elegien. Munich, 1992.
Stabryla S. Owidiusz. Wroclaw, 1989.
Stroh W. Ovid in Urteil der Nachwelt. Darmstadt, 1969.
Thilbault J. C. The Mystery of Ovid's Exile. Berkley-Los Angeles, 1964.
Viarre S. L'image et la pensée dans les Métamorphoses d'Ovide. Paris, 1964.
Wilkinson L. P. Ovid Recalled. Cambridge, 1955.
Williams G. Change and Decline. Roman Literature in the Early Empire. Berkley-Los Angeles, 1978.
Vulikh N.V. Ovid. M., 1996.
Gasparov M. L. Ovid in exile. / Ovid. Sorrowful elegies. Letters from Pontus. M., 1982, 189-224.
Publius Ovid Naso is a very easy and very difficult poet. He is easy because his speech is elegant and clear, his phrases and poems flow naturally and effortlessly, and his subjects are simple and accessible. There are poets, reading whom the reader feels: “How wonderful this is, I could never say that”; such is Virgil. And there are poets over whom the reader thinks: “How simple it is, I myself would only say it this way and not otherwise”; such is Ovid. But in this ease lies its difficulty. Ovid's story flows so transparently and naturally that we stop seeing the poet and see only the subject of his story. Ovid wrote about easy love and about entertaining mythology; and three eras European culture accepted or rejected it depending on whether they believed that love should be easy and mythology entertaining or not. What was the attitude of Ovid himself to both love and mythology - it seemed obvious, and no one thought about it.
The Middle Ages honored Ovid as a mentor: knights and clerics learned secular courtesy through the “Science of Love,” renounced earthly temptations with the help of “Cure for Love,” and reflected on the harmony of the universe through “Metamorphoses.” The Renaissance, Baroque, and Classicism loved Ovid as an entertainer: he amused them with an inexhaustible supply of gallant love stories against the spectacular backdrop of the brilliant age of heroes and gods. Romanticism and the entire 19th century behind it condemned Ovid as a “rhetorical poet”: in his love poems they did not find the spontaneity of true feeling, in his myths - the depth of the Hellenic faith, and without this, all of Ovid’s work began to seem only frivolous idle talk. The twentieth century again rehabilitated much in Latin literature, he felt that in our modern times there are more points of similarity with the Roman world than with the Hellenic world, he saw and fell in love with Virgil, Cicero, and Tacitus in a new way, but stopped before Ovid. They began to understand him better, but they did not love him any more: something about him still remains alien to a modern European.
That is why it is so unexpectedly difficult to find the way to understanding Ovid’s poetry - so seemingly uncomplicated and accessible. It is not given immediately - at least three approaches are needed to penetrate through the shiny surface of Ovid's poems into their depth.
The first thing that a modern person naturally wants to see in a poet’s poems is his spiritual appearance and life path. We have long been accustomed to treating poetry - at least lyrical poetry - as a “confession of the heart”: seeing in it the surest key to inner life poet. And Ovid’s life included a serene youth, a mysterious catastrophe, and a painful execution - many years in exile.
The poet himself, it would seem, is meeting our interest halfway: he even directly tells us his autobiography in verse, coherent and detailed (“Mournful Elegies”, IV, 10). The reader will find this elegy in our collection; we will try to fit the information reported by Ovid into the overall picture of his era - the era of the formation of the Roman Empire.
Ovid's birthday is March 20, 43 BC. e. It is not without reason that the poet uses bloody metaphors to describe both the day and the year. Rome has been plagued by civil wars for nearly a century. Popular generals, relying on the army and the crowd, opposed the Senate, which ruled the Roman Republic oligarchically. In the year of Ovid’s birth, Mark Antony and the young adopted son of the just murdered Julius Caesar, Gaius Octavian, entered into an alliance against the Senate. They marked their rise to power with an unprecedented massacre of the rich and nobles; the next year they defeated the last defenders of the Senate - Brutus and Cassius; then, ten years later, they came together in the last struggle for autocracy; Anthony died, Octavian returned to Rome, was enthusiastically greeted by both the Senate and the people, yearning for civil peace, celebrated a triumph, declared the republic restored, and for his power retained the authoritative title of “first man in the state” and the honorary name “Augusta”.
Ovid was fourteen years old in the year of the triumph of Augustus and sixteen in the year of the “restoration of the republic.” Just at this time he celebrated his coming of age - “put on an adult toga.” The events of the past troubled years apparently passed him by. The civil world immediately became something self-evident for him - a natural environment that allows a person to live for his own pleasure, leaving state concerns to others. Ovid's father looked at it differently. He was from the equestrian class - wealthy people, but until very recent years they did not have access to a political career; Now he dreamed of such a career, at least for his son. Ovid had to become a minor police official, a “triumvir in criminal matters” (“Sorrowful Elegies” IV, 10, 33), then he took a place in the judicial panel of decemvirs (“Fasti”, IV, 383). Now he could hope to receive the title of quaestor and enter the Senate; but here his aversion to politics finally prevailed over his father’s insistence. He abandoned a further career - he “narrowed his stripe”, preferring the narrow red stripe on the equestrian tunic to the wide senatorial stripe. From then on, he lived in Rome as a private person, doing only what gave him pleasure: literature and love.
Literature was the main subject of education for young Romans from good society. As boys, they studied with a “grammarian” - they read classical Greek writers with commentaries on history, geography, astronomy, but mainly on mythology. As young men, they entered training with a “rhetorician” to master eloquence: first they practiced retellings, examples, descriptions, comparisons, then they moved on to recitations - speeches on fictitious topics. Ovid’s father made sure that his son studied with the best mentors in Rome, and then even made a trip to Athens and Asia Minor to supplement his education (“Letters from Pontus,” II, 10). Declamations in school were of two types - adversarial and admonishing; the former required evidence addressed to reason, the latter - persuasiveness addressed to feeling. Ovid strongly preferred the latter. His senior comrade, the rhetorician Seneca (father of the famous philosopher), testifies in his memoirs that Ovid was in excellent standing among reciters, and cites from memory an excerpt from one of his recitations - about a husband and wife who swore that if one of them died , then the other will commit suicide. On behalf of her husband, Ovid here delivered a pathetic speech glorifying love: “It is easier to achieve the end of love than moderation! Do those who like to respect boundaries, think through their actions, weigh their words? Only old people love that!..”
Love was the main subject of attention for young people of Ovid's age. In Greece, and then in Rome, a custom had long been established that young people up to the age of thirty were allowed to “go wild”, and then they got married and settled down. This is exactly the world of the comedies of Menander and Plautus, where the comic hero was a young man who went on carousings and chased hetaerae. But by the time of Ovid, this youthful period of permitted dissipation began to gradually drag on. A century of civil wars has instilled in young people fear and mistrust of the “adult” world of intrigue and strife; it was much more pleasant to go into private life, into the world of love and friendship. This world, since the time of Plautus, has become more elegant and more cultured: women in it were not dumb slaves of vile pimps, but they themselves freely disposed of themselves and their desires, men in it from tavern drunks turned into salon courtesies, instead of violent outbursts of lust, we see here real civil marriages for love, no less durable than legal marriages in high society. For Ovid and his peers, such a life was endlessly attractive. The older generation, of course, was indignant and spoke of a decline in morals. Ovid's father deliberately hurried to marry his son in order to protect him from temptations, but nothing came of it: both Ovid's first and second marriages were short-lived, once through the fault of his wife, the other time - clearly through the fault of Ovid himself. He remained to live in this half-world, joyfully obeying its laws: “My heart flared up at the slightest spark, but there was never a bad rumor about me.”
Beck's works were distinguished by confident, academic drawing, precision in the rendering of details and a certain "salon" quality. In 1920-1930, he created a number of portraits of famous French writers, publishers and bibliophiles - Leon-Paul Fargues, Pierre Louis, Luc Durtin, Jules Romain, Sylvia Beach and others.
The first experiments in book graphics, which Beck turned to in the early 1920s - “Georges Duhamel” by Luc Durtain (Monnier, 1920) and “Solitude” by Edouard Estagnier (Georges Cres, 1922) - attracted the attention of Parisian publishers, and Beka began to receive orders for illustrations from time to time. However, during these years the artist was mainly engaged in painting, and the artist’s canvases received very flattering reviews. So, in May 1924, in a report on the Salon, the magazine of the publishing house “Hashette” “Reading for everyone” (“Lectures pour tous”) presented one of Beck’s paintings: “This is a spiritual and very rich canvas. We see a young woman, comfortably seated on pillows near a small table laden with cups and delicacies - breakfast has just finished, and this fashionable doll is in the clubs cigarette smoke looks at the remains of sweets with obvious disappointment, which is revealed by her darkened and clouded gaze with sad dreaminess.” But the book also remained in the artist’s sphere of interests. In 1928, Beck first turned to the work of Jean de La Fontaine - he illustrated Novellas for the Briffaut publishing house.
By the early 1930s, the artist became a recognized master of painting and graphics. Of particular interest were his engravings made using the drypoint technique. In 1932, Beka traveled across Africa - he visited the Congo, Gabon and Sudan. From the trip he brought back many drawings that reflected his impressions of life in exotic countries. Politics and social life did not attract the artist, as did the artistic searches of his avant-garde contemporaries: in Beck’s work, the main ones were the search for joy and harmony, admiring the beauty of the naked human body. His nudes, as a rule, are carefully executed, but the dry academicism is always softened by the author’s light irony.
In 1933, Beck's career began as a specialist in gallant texts. In the pre-war decade, public interest in small-circulation collector's editions increased. Beck's work on illustrations for such books brought him European fame. The artist turned mainly to works classical literature, but in his drawings he interpreted the texts in his own way, selecting the most frivolous moments for illustration. One after another, the publishing houses “Briffaut”, “Piazza”, “La Tradition”, “Libineau”, “Le Vasseur” began to publish books with engravings by Beck: Théophile Gautier’s novel “Fortunio” (1934), “The History of King Gonsalve” by Pierre Louis and “The Lady of the Camellias” by Alexandre Dumas fils (1935), “Adolphe” by Benjamin Constant (1936) and “The Devil in Love” by Jacques Cazotte (1936), “Aphrodite” by Pierre Louis and “Education of the Sentiments” by Gustave Flaubert (1937), “ Songs of Bilitis" by Pierre Louis (1938), "Daphnis and Chloe" by Long (1939)...
During the Second World War, Beck continued to work on illustrations for collector's editions. At this time, many famous cycles of his drawings were created, such as 24 color illustrations for “Manon Lescaut” by Abbot Prevost (“Le Vasseur”, 1941) and 23 color illustrations for the new edition of “Songs of Bilitis” by Pierre Louis (“Piazza”, 1943) . In 1942-1943, at the request of the publishing house “La Tradition,” Beka illustrated two books by Ovid: the poem “The Science of Love” and “Love Elegies.” Each volume contained 24 color illustrations. In 1944, a two-volume edition of Pietro Aretino’s Discourses (“La Nef d’Argent”, 1944) was published in Brussels, illustrated with 20 black and white woodcuts and 32 color lithographs, each lithograph being hand-tinted throughout the entire edition. Several artists were brought in to help Beck complete the job. The series of illustrations for the Discourses is one of the pinnacles of Beck’s work.
In 1945, Beka published his drawings for Pierre Louis's story "The Woman and the Clown", in 1947 he illustrated his "The Adventures of King Pozolius", and in 1948 more than frank illustrations were published for the poems of Paul Verlaine and "Gallant Ladies" by Pierre de Brantome . Color lithographs for the novels “Fanny Hill. Memoirs of a Comfort Woman by John Cleland (1948), Les Liaisons Dangerous by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos, and The Abode of Parma by Stendhal (1949) were immediately recognized as classics of erotic illustration upon publication. Meanwhile, the artist continued to work actively in the 1950s. He illustrated the works of Pierre Ronsard (1950), Voltaire (1950-1951), Pierre de Marivaux (1952), Sappho (1952). In 1954, the artist returned to Ovid’s poetry, creating a new cycle of 13 monochrome engravings for “Love Elegies” for the publishing house “Athkna”. In 1955, the Philibert publishing house released the famous “Florentine” deck of cards, on which Beca, in particular, depicted King Francis I, Leonardo da Vinci, Machiavelli, Lucrezia Borgia and other historical characters.
In the same 1955, the Parisian publishing house “Heures claires” published the book of Jean de La Fontaine “The Love of Psyche and Cupid” with 16 illustrations by the master in a circulation of 500 copies. In this late work everyone has incarnated characteristics creative manner of the artist. Monochrome engravings made using the drypoint technique show characters in moments of entertainment, bliss, love games, and create an atmosphere of endless celebration and admiration for the beauty of the naked bodies of divine heroes.
Over his long creative life, Beck created graphic series for more than 100 books, including dozens of works of frivolous literature. He did not leave work until his last days. The artist died on January 1, 1960 in Paris, one month short of his 75th birthday. However, Beck's gallant and erotic illustrations, executed with virtuoso skill, ensured his lifetime and posthumous fame.
V. G. Zartaisky
Ovid accurately names his place in the ranks of Roman poets: “The first was Gall, the second Tibullus, the third Propertius, the fourth I” (“Sorrowful Elegies”, IV, 10, 53-54). This is a continuity of masters of one genre: love elegy. This genre was new, even newfangled; it developed not in Greece, but in Rome, in the very secular circle to which Ovid so strove, and was the best exponent of love etiquette in this circle. Elegies were poems of medium size, united in cycles dedicated to the poet’s beloved, hidden under a conventional name: Cornelius Gall sang Cypherides under the name Lycorida, Tibullus - Plania under the name Delia, Propertius - Host under the name Cinthia. Ovid, following them, sang of his heroine under the name of Corinna; Inquisitive ancient biographers could not establish her true name, and even during Ovid’s lifetime there were women who, out of vanity, pretended to be Corinna (“Love Elegies”, II, 17, 29; cf. “Science of Love”, III, 538); one might think that Corinna did not have a living prototype, and this image, around which the loving poet collected all his experience of love feelings, is quite conventional. But all the motives that were supposed to be in love elegies are present in Ovid: service to Cupid, and delight at the mercy of his beloved, and suffering from her betrayals, and complaints about the omnipotence of gold, and proud faith in the eternity of his poems. The first edition of "Love Elegies" in five books (later reduced to three) was published around 15 BC. e. and immediately brought great fame to the author. "Singer of Love" became common noun poet.
Translation by S. Shervinsky
Book one
I
An important verse I wanted war and hot battles
Depict using a consonantal meter with the theme:
The first verse was equal to the second. Cupid laughed
And, they say, he secretly stole a foot from the poem.
“Who gave you such rights over poetry, evil boy?
You are not the singers' leader, we are Pierid's companions.
What if Venus took the sword of fair-haired Minerva,
Did the blonde Minerva suddenly light the torch?
Who will call the mountain forests Lady Ceres?
10 Or will he recognize power in the fields of the virgin archer?
Who would teach javelin throwing to a bushy-haired man?
Phoebe? Mars will not rattle the lyre of Aonia!
Boy, you are so powerful, and your kingdom is so great,
Ambitious, why are you looking for new worries?
Or have you taken possession of everything - Helicon, the Tempean Valley?
Or is Phoebus not the master of his own lyre?
Only with the first verse a new book appeared,
How Cupid immediately cut off my best impulse.
I don’t have any suitable items for easy poetry:
20 Boys, no girls with fluffy hair,” -
So I blamed, and meanwhile he opened the quiver and instantly
He pulled out his sharp arrows for my destruction.
He took his recurve bow and pulled the string on his knee:
“Here,” he said, “poet, the theme for your songs!”
Woe is me! Unfortunately, the boy had marks on those arrows.
I began to burn - and Cupid now reigns in my chest.
Let the hexameter verse be followed by a pentameter.
Bran, goodbye! And you, their praising verse!
For those grown up near the moisture, crown the golden head with myrtle,
30 Muse, there will be eleven feet in your couplets.
II
I don’t understand why the bed seems hard to me
And does my blanket slide onto the floor from the bed?
And why didn’t I fall asleep throughout the long night?
And why are you exhausted, why do your bones hurt?
I wouldn't be surprised if I were tenderly excited by a feeling...
Or, sneaking up, is love secretly playing tricks on me?
Yes, undoubtedly: sharpened arrows pierced my heart
And the cruel Cupid rules in the conquered chest.
Surrender to him or fight to kindle an unexpected flame?..
10 I’ll give up: the load is light if it doesn’t put pressure on your shoulder.
I noticed that the flame is stronger when you shake the torch -
Stop hesitating and the fire will die out.
More often they whip young bulls, those who do not submit to the yoke,
Than those who willingly lead the reins in the field.
The horse is restless, so they subdue him with a tight bit:
If he rushes into battle, he knows no strict reins.
Likewise Cupid: he drives out the obstinate more powerfully and fiercely,
Than those who always serve him obediently.
I confess, I turned out to be your new prey,
20 I am defeated, I stretch out my arms to you, Cupid.
There is no need for us to be at enmity, I ask for peace and forgiveness. -
Is it an honor to take an unarmed prisoner with your weapons?
Crown the brow with myrtle, harness the mother's doves.
And my warlike stepfather will give you a chariot to match.
On his chariot - a triumphant - with the cries of the people!
You will stand and easily guide a team of birds.
The young men of the captives will be led after the girls of the captives,
You will solemnly celebrate a magnificent triumph.
The last victim, myself with my recent wound
30 I will carry my new chains to my captive soul.
With your arms bent behind your back, Goodwill will be drawn behind you.
Modesty and all those who fight against the army of Cupid.
Everyone will be afraid of you, and, stretching out their hands to you,
The crowd will sing loudly: “Glory! And about! Celebrate!
Next to you Temptations will come, Delusion, Riot, -
Wherever you are, this gang is always with you.
You conquer both people and gods with such a militia.
Without their assistance, you will find yourself completely naked.
Mother from the Olympic heights will be for you, the triumphant
40 Applaud, throw roses at you, having fun.
Your wings and curls will burn in gems,
You yourself are golden, you will fly on a gilded axis.
You will burn many more along the way - I don’t know you!
Driving past, you will still inflict many wounds.
Even if you wanted to, you are not able to hold the arrows:
If not the fire itself, its proximity will burn.
Bacchus, who conquered the lands of the Ganges, was similar to you:
Pigeons carry you - tigers carried him.
But if I participate in the divine triumph now,
50 If I am defeated by you, be my protector!
Generous - look! - your relative Caesar is in battle,
With a victorious hand he protects the vanquished.
V
It was hot that day, and it was already approaching noon.
I was tired and lay down on the bed.
One shutter was only closed, the other was open,
So there was partial shade in the room, as if in a forest, -
Soft, flickering light, like the hour just before sunset
Or when the night has passed, but the day has not yet arisen.
By the way, such twilight is for girls of modest disposition.
In it their fearful shame finds the necessary shelter.
Then Corinna came in wearing an unbelted light shirt,
10 Strands of hair fell over snow-white shoulders.
According to legend, Semiramis entered the bedroom
Or Laida, love who has known many husbands...
I tore off the light fabric, although it was thin, it did not interfere much -
The shy girl still fought with me because of her.
I just fought like those who don’t want their own victory,
Soon, having betrayed herself, she surrendered to her friend without difficulty.
And she appeared naked before my eyes...
Her body appeared to me in impeccable beauty.
20 Why did I caress your shoulders! What hands have I touched!
How full the breasts were - if only I could squeeze them passionately!
How smooth her belly was under her perfect breasts!
The figure is so magnificent and straight, young strong thigh!
Is it worth listing?.. Everything was worthy of admiration.
I pressed her naked body to mine...
Anyone knows the rest... We fell asleep tired together...
Oh, if only my afternoons would pass like this more often!
VI
Listen, gatekeeper, alas! - shameful chained!
Pull the bolt, open this stubborn door!
I don’t ask for much: just make the passage narrow,
So that I could crawl sideways into the half-open one.
After all, I’ve lost weight from long love, and this comes in handy for me, -
I have become so thin that I can easily slip through a crack...
Teaches love to bypass the watchmen's watch slowly
And he guides my light feet without obstacles.
I used to be afraid of the dark, empty ghosts,
10 I marveled that a man would walk bravely into the night.
Cupid and Mother Venus smiled in my face,
They said half jokingly: “You too will become brave!”
I fell in love - and there are no more ghosts roaring at night,
I am not afraid of the hands that threaten my life.
No, I fear only you and flatter only you, lazybones!
You hold lightning in your hands, you can hit me.
Look out, unlock the door, then you will see, cruel one:
The door was already wet, I cried so many tears.
Remember: when you were trembling, without a shirt, waiting for the scourge,
20 I defended you before your mistress.
My requests earned you mercy on that memorable day, -
What - oh baseness! -Are you not being merciful to me today?
Repay me the debt of gratitude! You both want and can, -
Pull it out!.. I wish you to throw off the shackles someday
And finally stop eating your slave’s bread.
No, you don’t listen to requests... You yourself are made of iron, gatekeeper!..
The door hangs stiffly on oak pillars.
With a strong lock, the gates are useful to besieged cities, -
30 But is it necessary to fear enemies in days of peace?
How will you deal with your enemy if you persecute a lover like this?
Night time is running out - pull up the bolt on the door!
I approached without soldiers, without weapons... alone... but not at all:
Know that the angry Cupid is standing next to me.
Even if I wanted to, I am not able to remove him, -
It would be easier for me to part with my body.
Therefore, here there is only Cupid with me, and the light
Hops in my head, and a wreath straying from my wet curls.
Is my weapon scary? Who will not come to battle with me,
40 Time is running out at night, pull up the bolt on the door!
Or are you dozing, and sleep, a hindrance to lovers, throws
Are my words lost on your ears?
I remember in the dead of night when I used to try
Hide from your eyes, you never sleep...
Maybe your friend is sleeping with you today?
Oh! How much better is your fate than mine!
I would like your luck - and I’m ready to put on your pennies...
Night time is running out - pull up the bolt on the door!
Or am I imagining things?.. The door turned on its hinges...
50 The gates trembled, and their creaking prophesies success to me?..
No... I was mistaken... A breath of wind blew across the door...
Woe is me! How far the wind of hope has carried you!
If you, Borey, remember the kidnapping of Orithia, -
Oh, appear and blow, break open the blind doors!
There is silence all around in Rome... Sparkling with crystal dew,
Night time is running out - pull up the bolt on the door!
Or with the sword and the fire that burns my torch,
Without asking, I will cross this arrogant threshold!
Night, love and wine don’t really teach patience:
60 The night is alien to modesty, Bacchus and Cupid are afraid.
I have exhausted all my resources, but there are no pleas or threats from you.
Still, they didn’t touch... You’re even more silent than the door!
No, it’s not for you, the beautiful one, to guard the threshold
Women, you should be the guard of a dark prison!..
Now the morning sun is rising and the frosty air softens,
The rooster again calls the poor to ordinary labors.
Well, my unfortunate wreath! Plucked from the joyless curls,
Lie here at the unpleasant doors until dawn!
Here on the threshold the lady will notice you in the morning, -
70 You will witness how I spent this night...
Okay, gatekeeper, goodbye!.. You should endure my torment!
Sonya, who did not let her lover into the house - goodbye!
Be healthy and you, threshold, pillars and gates
Strong, the slaves themselves are worse than a chained slave!
VII
If you really are my friend, put me in shackles according to your deserts.
My hands - while my violent impulse has cooled down.
In my wild outburst I raised my beloved hand,
My darling is crying, the victim of my mad hand.
At that moment I could have insulted my dearly beloved parents,
I could strike even the idols of the gods.
What? Did Ayant, who owned a seven-layered shield,
Didn’t catch the cattle in the spacious meadow?
Is the unfortunate Orestes, who avenged his mother’s father,
10 Didn’t dare to raise the sword against the hidden goddesses?
I dared to boldly dishevel my beloved’s hair, -
But even though she lost her hair, she didn’t get any worse. So lovely!..
Such, according to legend, on the slopes of Menal
The Virgin, Schene's daughter, was chasing game with a bow;
Or the Cretan woman, when the sails and vows of Theseus
Noth carried away, his hair down, tears shed;
Or Cassandra (even though she had sacred ribbons)
She prostrated herself to the ground like this in your temple, Minerva.
Who won’t say to me now: “Crazy!”, who won’t say to me: “Barbarian!”?
20 But she remained silent: horror had frozen her lips.
Only with a pale face she silently reproached me,
I was accused by her tears and without speech.
At first I wanted my arms to fall off my shoulders:
“It would be better,” I thought, “to lose a part of myself!”
Yes, I only resorted to reckless force to my detriment,
I couldn’t restrain my impulse and only punished myself.
Do I need you now, handmaidens of villainy and murder?
Hands, get into shackles quickly! You deserve the shackles.
If I had hit the last of the plebeians, I would have suffered
30 Karoo, - or do I have more rights over my mistress?
Diomedes became remembered for the gravest crime: the goddess
He struck first, and today I became the second.
Still, he’s not so guilty: I hit my darling,
Even though he said that I loved him, he was furious with the enemy.
Well, winner, now get ready for magnificent triumphs!
Crown your brow with laurel, honor Jupiter with your sacrifice!..
Let the crowd exclaim as they see off your chariot:
“Hail, valiant husband: you have defeated a woman!”
Let your victim drag along with his hair down,
40 Mournful, with a pale face, if not for the blood on her cheeks...
It would be better if her lips turned blue under my lips,
It would be better to wear a playful tooth sign on your neck!
And finally, if I raged like an angry torrent,
And at that moment of the blind man’s anger he turned out to be a slave, -
Couldn’t he have shouted - after all, she was already so timid -
Without offensive words, without loud threats?
Couldn't he have torn her dress - even though it's a shame -
To the middle? And there the belt would have restrained my ardor.
I went so far as to grab her locks of hair with my forehead.
50 And left marks of nails on the lovely cheeks!
She was dumbfounded, there was not a drop of blood in her astonished face,
White became whiter than stone from the Parian ridge.
I saw how weak she was, how she trembled, -
So the hair of poplars trembles in the windy currents,
Or a thin reed, swayed by a light Zephyr,
Or ripples on the water if Noth rushes by.
She couldn’t stand it any longer, and her tears flowed like a stream -
So a trickle of spring water flows from under the snow.
At that moment I felt guilty,
60 Her bitter tears were my blood.
Three times I wanted to fall at her feet and beg for forgiveness, -
She pushed my hands away three times.
Do not doubt, believe: by taking revenge, you will ease your torment;
Don’t hesitate to dig your nails into my face, I pray!
Do not spare my eyes and do not spare my hair, I conjure, -
Anger will give its help to women's weak hands.
Or, so that the signs of my atrocities can be erased as soon as possible
I pray, put your hair back in the same order!
IX
Every lover is a soldier, and Cupid has his own camp.
Believe me in this, Atticus: every lover is a soldier.
The age capable of war is also suitable for the work of Venus.
The decrepit fighter is pitiful, the old man in love is pitiful.
A commander in a strong warrior requires the same years
And young beauty in a friend on the bed of love.
Both carry guard and sleep on the ground like soldiers:
This one is at the lovely doors, that one is at the leader’s tent.
A warrior is on the road all his life, but once his beloved leaves,
10 The bold lover will follow to the ends of the earth.
Oncoming mountains, doubly full-flowing rivers from the rains
He will cross, trampling how much snow along the way!
Whether you have to sail by sea, he won’t refer to storms
And he won’t think of wishing for better weather.
Who would endure, if he is not a soldier, not a lover,
Is it cold at night and snow along with torrential rain?
This one needs to go to the enemy camp for reconnaissance;
He does not take his eyes off the enemy, that is, the opponent.
That one is to besiege cities, and this one is the threshold of a cruel
20 Must - who breaks the door, who breaks the fortress gates.
It was often possible to attack sleeping enemies by surprise,
With an armed hand to defeat the army of the unarmed, -
The fierce militia of Res the Thracian fell,
You, captive horses, had to abandon your owner!
So the slumber of husbands helps clever lovers:
The enemy falls asleep - they boldly rush into battle.
Pass all the guards, avoid the patrol units -
This is the concern of fighters, the labor of poor lovers.
Mars and Venus are equally unreliable: the defeated one rises,
30 Someone you couldn’t even think about falls.
Let no one say that love is just idleness:
An inventive mind is needed for the work of love.
The great Achilles burns with passion for the lost Briseis, -
Use it, sons of Troy! Destroy the Argive power!
Hector left the arms of his Andromache for battle,
And his wife covered his head with a helmet.
Before Cassandra, with her mad maenad hair,
The greatest leader, Atrid, they say, was dumbfounded.
Mars also experienced skillfully woven networks, -
40 It was the Olympians’ favorite story...
From childhood I was lazy, prone to careless leisure,
Dozing and resting in the shade relaxed my soul.
But I fell in love, and now I’ve shaken myself, and my heart is in alarm
She ordered me to serve in the military camp of love.
As you can see, I have become vigorous, I am fighting night battles.
If you don’t want to become an idle sloth, then love!
X
The one taken away from Eurotas on a Phrygian ship,
Which became the cause of the war between her two glorious husbands;
Ice, with which love is hidden by snow-white plumage,
The cunning lover knew, flying off in bird form;
And Amymona, in the dry, wandering fields of Argolis,
With an urn, on the crown of her head, crushing a bunch of hair, -
That's who I thought you were; I was afraid of both the eagle and the bull -
Everyone into whom the Thunderer Cupid was able to turn...
My fear is now over, my soul is completely healed,
10 This face no longer captivates my eyes with its beauty.
You may ask, why have I changed so much? You demand payment!
This is the reason: since then I have stopped liking you.
Knowing you sincerely, I loved your soul and body, -
Now the crafty deception has spoiled your charm.
And Cupid is young and naked: the child is innocent,
He has no clothes on - he is completely open to everyone.
With payment will you order to insult Venus's son?
He doesn’t even have floors to tie up the money.
After all, neither Venus herself nor Eros are capable of fighting, -
20 Should they, the peace-loving gods, charge a fee?
The whore is ready to confess to anyone for reasonable money,
She captivates the body for the sake of ill-fated riches.
Still, she hates the owner, the greedy will -
What you do with goodness, you do with compulsion.
It’s better to take animals as an example for your foolish selves.
It's a shame that their morals are higher than the morals of people.
Neither the cow from the bull nor the mare from the horse expects payment,
And the ram in love does not take for payment.
Only a woman is happy to take the spoils of war from a man,
30 Only she is paid for the night, you can only buy her.
Bargaining involves the property of two, desired by both, -
She takes all the reward for herself.
This means that love that is sweet to both comes from both.
Can one sell, should the other buy?
And why is delight common to man and woman?
Would it be a loss to him and an enrichment to her?
It is a bad witness if he, being bribed, breaks his oath;
It’s bad when the judge’s chest is open;
It is a shame to defend a poor man in court with a paid speech;
40 It is disgusting when the tribunal fills its purse.
It is disgusting to multiply a father's inheritance with bed income,
Bargaining your beauty for the sake of self-interest.
What is given without payment rightfully deserves gratitude;
If the bed is corrupt, there is nothing to be grateful for.
The one who bought is not bound by anything: the transaction is completed -
And the guest leaves, he is not in your debt.
Beware of charging a nightly fee, lovely wives!
Unclean income is of no benefit to anyone.
How much did the wrists of the Sabines help the holy priestess,
50 If a naked man was flattened by a heavy shield?
Sharp steel pierced his birth womb
Son - the necklace was the fault of his villainy.
However, there is no shame in asking for gifts from the rich:
They will find the means to fulfill your request.
Why not pick the grapes hanging on the abundant vines?
You can collect fruits from the rich land of the Phaeacians.
If your friend is poor, evaluate his loyalty, concerns, -
He gives his mistress all his property.
And to glorify worthy beauties in verses -
60 My job is: if I want, I will bring glory to anyone.
Fabrics of clothes will rot, gems and gold will perish, -
But until the end of time, poetry will bestow glory.
I myself am not stingy, I do not tolerate, I hate when they demand payment;
If you ask, I’ll refuse you, stop asking, and I’ll give it to you.
XIII
He rises from the ocean, leaving his elderly husband,
Blonde; The day rushes by on a dewy axis.
What are you in a hurry, Aurora? Wait! Oh, let it be every year
Birds enter into battle, praising Memnon's shadow!
It feels good at this hour to lie in the arms of my dear,
If she presses her whole body tightly against me.
The sleep is sweet and deep, the air is cool and humid.
With its flexible neck ringing, the bird welcomes oppression.
You are undesirable to husbands, undesirable to maidens... Slow down!
10 Pull your dewy reins with your scarlet hand!
It’s easier to follow the constellations before dawn
The helmsman, and he does not wander at random in the waves.
As soon as you get up, the traveler gets up, not having had time to rest,
The warrior immediately takes up his sword with his usual hand.
The first thing you see in the fields is a farmer with a two-pronged hoe,
The first to call the leisurely bulls under the yoke.
You don’t let the boys sleep, you send them to their mentors,
So that they brutally beat the children on the hands.
To the courthouse you lead the one who is bound by a guarantee -
20 A lot of trouble can be caused there with just one word.
You are displeasing to the judge, displeasing to the solicitor too, -
You tell them to get out of bed and sort things out again.
You, when housewives could take a break from work,
You call the skilled hand again to the interrupted yarn.
It’s impossible to list everything... But so that the girls get up early,
Only those who apparently don’t have a girlfriend will endure it.
Oh, how I often wished that the night would not give in to you,
So that the stars do not run away in confusion before your face!
Oh, how I often wished that the wind would break your axle
30 Or the horse would have fallen, falling into a thick cloud.
Why are you in a hurry? Don't be jealous! If your son is born black,
It's only your fault: your heart is black.
Or did it never burn with love for Cephalus?
Do you think the world didn’t know about your adventures?
I would like Typhon to tell about you without hiding, -
There was not a single fable in heaven that was more disgraceful!
“You’re running away from your husband,” he grew colder over the years.
How the old man hated your chariot!
If only you were hugging Cephalus right now,
40 I would shout to the horses at night: “Stop, hold back your run!”
Should I suffer because your husband has withered away for many years?
Did I advise calling the old man husband?
Remember how Selena cherished the young man’s dream for a long time,
But she was not inferior to you in beauty.
The father of the gods himself, so as to see Aurora less often,
I merged two nights into one, thus pleasing myself...
But I stopped grumbling: she seemed to hear,
Suddenly she blushed... But the day still didn’t rise later...
XIV
How many times have I said: “Stop dyeing your hair!”
So the hair is gone, there is nothing to dye now.
And if you wanted, there would be nothing more beautiful in the world!
They descended magnificently to the bottom of your thighs.
Really, they were so thin that you were afraid to comb them, -
Only the Chinese weave similar fabrics.
A spider with a thin leg somewhere under a dilapidated beam
Leading such a thread, busy with quick work.
The color of your hair was not golden, but it was not black either -
10 He was between one and the other, pouring out to one and the other:
Exactly like this in the damp valleys in the highlands of Ida
The color of cedar trunks when the bark is peeled off.
They were obedient, - add, - capable of hundreds of twists,
They never caused you pain.
They did not break off from the pins and comb teeth,
The girl could clean them up without fear...
Often the maid dressed her up in front of me, and never
Snatching the hairpin, she did not prick the slave’s hands.
In the morning, he used to lie on his purple bed
20 On her back, - and her hair had not been removed yet.
How beautiful she was, similar to a Thracian bacchante,
Why did she lie down on a meadow ant to rest...
They were so soft and like light down, -
However, how many different torments they had to endure!
How they patiently succumbed to fire and iron,
To make it round then it is better to curl it into a rope!
I screamed loudly: “I swear, burning this hair is a crime!
They lie down on their own, have pity on their beauty!
What violence! It is not appropriate for such hair to burn:
30 They’ll teach you where the pins should be inserted!..”
There are no more wonderful hairs, you ruined them, but, really,
Apollo or Bacchus himself could envy them.
I would compare them with those of naked Dione by the sea
He holds it with a wet hand - that’s how they like to write it.
Why are you crying about your old hair now, you fool?
The mirror in sorrow, why are you in a hurry to move it away?
Yes, you reluctantly look at it now out of habit,
To admire yourself, you need to forget about the past!
After all, the rival’s slanderous potion did not harm them,
40 The evil hag did not wash them in the Hemonian stream;
The cause of grief was not illness (carry it past!),
The evil tongue did not diminish the hair of envy:
Now you see for yourself that you have caused a loss to yourself,
You doused your head with a mixture of poisons yourself!
The hair of prisoners can be sent to you from Germany,
The gift of conquered tribes will adorn you.
If someone admires your hair, you will blush,
You will say: “They admire me because of my purchased beauty!
They praise some Germanic sigambra in me, -
50 But sometimes I heard praise for myself!..”
Woe is me! She cries, she can’t help herself; hand,
I see she covered her face, her cheeks were burning with fire.
The remains of her former hair are on her knees, it’s hard for her, -
My grief! They were not worthy of their knees...
But take heart, smile: your misfortune can be corrected,
You will soon regain the beauty of natural hair!
XV
Envy! Why do you reproach me for wasting my youth?
Why, by writing poetry, am I indulging in idleness?
I, they say, not like fathers, I don’t want to be in my best years
To serve in the army, I’m not looking for dusty military awards.
Should I repeat verbosity laws on an ungrateful
Forum, forgetting shame, sell your speeches?
These things are not eternal, but I wish myself glory
Enduring, so that the world repeats my songs.
The Maeonian singer lives while Ida rises.
10 Fast as long as the wave rushes to the sea, Simoent.
The Ascrean is also alive while the grapes are filling with juice.
And they cut the crooked ear of Cererine with a sickle.
The whole world will constantly glorify the son of Butt. -
He is great not in his talent, but in his skill.
Likewise, Sophocles’ buskin will never wear out.
Are there sun and moon in the sky? This means that Arat did not die.
The slave is still wicked, the father is heartless, obscene
A matchmaker, and the maiden of love is affectionate, Menander lives too.
Shares, whose verse is courageous, and Ennius, still unskilled,
20 Glorious, and their names cannot be erased by time.
Can people forget Varro and the first ship?
Or how the leader Esonid sailed for the golden fleece?
Also the exalted Lucretius will be forgotten by people,
Only when the Earth itself will one day perish.
Titir, earthly fruits and Aenean battles, - reader
They will be remembered as long as Rome dominates the world.
As long as the torch and Cupid's bow will be weapons.
Learned Tibullus, your lines will be repeated.
Gall will also be known in the eastern and Western countries, -
30 Together with his Gallus and his Lycoridas.
So: meanwhile, like a rock or the tooth of a patient plow
They die over the years - poetry does not know death.
Let the kings and all their triumphs yield to verses,
Let Tag yield to them in the gold-bearing banks!
Let the low rabble beckon! And to me Apollo is blond
Let him fill the cup fuller with the Castalian stream!
Just to crown the head of those who are afraid of the cold with myrtle,
If only my ardent lover would read me more often!
Envy is greedy for the living. We die - and she will calm down.
40 Everyone will be honored after death according to his merits.
So, even after burning on the funeral pyre, I will remain forever
To live, a considerable part of me will be safe.
Book two
I
I wrote this too, a native of the Peligni region.
The same Ovid, the singer of his dissolute life.
That was Cupid's order. Go away, strict wives, -
No, these gentle verses are not for your ears.
Let the bride read me, admiring the groom
Or an innocent youth who has never known love before.
Any of the youth, like me, wounded by an arrow,
Let him recognize the features of his own passion in the poems
And, coming in amazement, “How could he have guessed,” he exclaims. -
10 This master poet - and tell about me?
I remember that I dared to glorify the heavenly battles.
Gyges with a hundred arms - and, perhaps, he could! -
Sing how the Earth took revenge and how, perched on Olympus,
Pelion then collapsed together with Ossa.
I held the clouds in my hands and Jupiter’s terrible feather, -
He could boldly defend his heaven for them!..
What? My favorite door locked... And I forgot the Peruns.
Jupiter himself instantly disappeared from my thoughts.
O Thunderer, forgive me! Your arrows could not help me:
20 The locked door had lightning stronger than yours.
I took my weapon: light elegies, jokes:
My gentle words touched the strict door.
Poems can bring down the bloody moon from the sky,
The suns of the white horses may turn back.
Snakes under the power of poetry lose their poisonous sting,
The waters, by the will of the poems, flow again to their sources.
Before the verse the door opens and the castle gives way,
If it is firmly driven even into an oak jamb.
What good was it for me to glorify the fleet-footed Achilles?
30 How much can this or that Atrid give me?
A husband who spent the same amount of time in battles and wanderings,
Or Hector, the lamentable hero, dragged in the dust?
No! And the beauty is the one whose youthful beauty I praise,
Now he comes to me to reward the singer.
I've had enough of this reward! Farewell heroes
With a big name! It’s not for me to seek your favors.
If only, beauties, you would favorably bow your ears
To the songs suggested to me by the god of ruddy love.
IV
I would never dare to defend corrupt morals,
For the sake of your vices, rattle false weapons.
I confess - if admitting wrongdoing is to our benefit.
I am ready for all the madness, to reveal all my guilt.
I hate vice... but I myself thirst for that which I hate.
Oh, how hard it is to carry something that you would like to throw away!
No, I don’t have enough strength or will to overcome myself...
It’s tossing me around like a ship on the waves!..
There is no definite thing that would excite my love,
10 Hundreds of reasons - and now I’m constantly in love!
As soon as some woman lowers her eyes modestly, -
I was already on fire, seeing her bashfulness.
If another is brave, then it means she is not a simpleton, -
She will probably be playful in a soft bed.
Will I ever meet someone who is strict, like the stern Sabinas? -
I think: she wants love, she just hides it - she’s proud!
Since you are educated, I like your upbringing;
She has not learned anything - she is so sweet in her simplicity.
And Callimachus’s verses for another are clumsy before mine, -
20 If they like me, that means they are mine, and I like her too.
The same my songs, and me, the poet, defames, -
Even though she defames me, I want to tilt her hip back.
This gait will captivate, but this one is straight, motionless, -
She will become flexible, having experienced the caress of a man.
Another one sings sweetly, and her voice flows easily, -
I want to snatch a kiss from the singer.
This skillful finger runs along the plaintive strings, -
Is it possible not to love these most skillful hands?
This one captivates in movement, spreads its arms measuredly,
30 He knows how to bend a young body softly and to the beat.
What can I say about me - I burn for every reason -
Then take Hippolytus: he too will become Priapus.
You captivate me with your height: you are like the ancient heroines, -
It's long, you can take up a whole bed with yourself.
This one is desirable to me because it is small: both are seductive.
Tall, short - they all awaken my desires.
Is this one not tidy? Well, dressing up will make you more beautiful.
She is dressed up: she can show herself off.
I like white, I like golden skin;
40 Even I am sometimes carried away by the dark Venus.
Are the dark strands of curls clinging to the snow-white neck:
Leda's glory was her black-haired beauty.
Are they light? - but Aurora’s saffron curls seduce...
In myths there is always an example I need.
Young I blame my age, but I am also touched by more mature ones:
This one is sweeter with beauty, this one captivates with intelligence...
In a word, whichever one you take from the women praised in the capital,
Everyone attracts me, I want to achieve everyone!
VI
Today, a talking parrot comes from the East, from India.
He died... Come in a crowd, birds, to bury him.
In the chest, full of piety, feathered ones, beat with wings,
Scratch your cheeks until they bleed with a hard, crooked claw!
Ruffle your feathers; like hair, tear it out in grief;
Sing yourself instead of the long funeral trumpet.
What, Philomela, is there to blame for the villainy of the Thracian tyrant?
Many years have flown by, it’s time to stop complaining.
Better grieve and moan about the death of such a rare bird!
10 May you grieve deeply; this is a long-standing sorrow.
All of you who have been given the gift of being carried along the currents of air,
Cry! - and first you, little turtle dove: he is your friend.
Side by side you lived your life in constant mutual agreement,
Your long loyalty remains strong to the grave.
What was the Phocian Pylades young to the Argive Orestes,
The same was the parrot, the turtle dove in your life.
What is your loyalty, alas? What a rare color of feathers,
A voice that could take on all kinds of sounds?
The fact that, as soon as you were given, my mistress fell in love with you?
20 Glory to the birds, and yet you still lie dead...
With the feathers of your wings you could outshine the fragile emeralds,
The crimson beak was set off by yellow saffron.
There was no bird anywhere that imitated a voice like that.
How wonderfully you knew how to burr when speaking your words!
You were ruined by envy - you didn’t try to start quarrels.
He was talkative by nature, loved the serene world...
But quails are not the same; constantly fight with each other, -
And that is why, perhaps, their life is long.
You were full with nothing. Sometimes for the love of talking,
30 Even though there was plenty of food, I didn’t have time to bite.
Was your food a nut or a poppy, plunging you into slumber,
You are used to quenching your thirst with spring water.
The voracious hawk is alive and soaring high in circles
The kite, and the jackdaw is alive, calling for rain:
And the crow, whose appearance is intolerable to the shield-bearing Minerva, -
They say she can live for nine centuries.
And the talking parrot died, human speech
Display, gift of the extreme limits of the earth.
The greedy hands of fate often take away the best,
40 The worst thing in the world will always live life fully.
The despised Thersites saw the funeral pyre of the Philacian;
Hector the hero became ashes - the brothers survived...
What to remember, how the mistress begged the gods for you
In fear? The frantic Noth carried away the prayer into the sea...
The seventh day has come, he did not bring the eighth, -
The spinning wheel is empty, and there is nothing to twist your parka.
But the words did not freeze in the bird’s numb larynx.
He, already feeling death, said: “Corinna, forgive me!..”
Below the Elysian Hill there is a dark grove of hollies;
50 There are always green ants on the wet ground.
There are virtuous birds there - although it’s hard to believe! - monastery;
They say that sinister birds are prohibited from entering there.
Clean swans graze there in the wide open spaces,
Phoenix, alone in the world, lives there, immortal;
There the magnificent bird of Juno spreads its tail:
There a passionate dove kisses his dove.
Accepted into their company, the parrot in those sheltered groves
He captivates all virtuous birds with his speech...
And above his bones there is a small tubercle, according to his height,
60 With a small stone: a small verse is carved on it:
“How dear I was to my mistress is clear from the tombstone.
I could speak human speech, which is inaccessible to birds.”
VII
So, will I always be guilty of new crimes?
I'm tired of fighting for the sake of protection.
As soon as I look up at our white marble theater,
In a crowd of women you will always find a reason to be jealous,
Will an innocent woman silently glance at me,
Are you ready to read secret signs in the face.
I praise a woman - you tear my hair with your nails;
I’ll start blaspheming, you say: I’m covering my tracks...
If I look fresh, it means I’m indifferent to you:
10 If it’s not fresh, it’s withered away, which means it’s yearning for another...
Really, I really want to be really guilty:
Punishment is not difficult to endure if it is deserved.
You blame me in vain, you believe all sorts of lies in vain, -
By doing this, you deprive your own anger of value.
Look at the donkey, remember the long-eared sufferer:
No matter how much you hit him, he doesn’t move faster...
Again a crime: with your expert in hairstyles,
Yes, Kipassida and I have crushed your bed!
Immortal gods! How? If I wish to commit treason,
20 Should I look for a girlfriend of low, simple blood?
Which free man would want to get intimate with a slave?
Who would want to hug a body that has known the whip?
By the way, add that she cleans with rare skill
That’s why your hair became dear to you.
Will I really covet your faithful servant?
He will only inform on me, and even refuse...
No, I swear by Venus and the winged boy’s bow:
What you accuse me of, I am innocent of, I swear!
VIII
You, who are capable of creating at least a thousand different hairstyles;
You, Kipassida, who only takes away the goddesses:
You, who are by no means simple in love affairs;
You, who are dear to the lady, are twice as dear to me, -
Who informed Corinna about our secret intimacy!?
How did she find out who you were sleeping with, Kipassida?
Did I accidentally blush?.. Did a random word slip out?
From the lips, and involuntarily the tongue betrayed hidden love?..
Didn’t I myself assert, and at the same time constantly repeat,
10 That sinning with a servant means losing your mind?
However... the Thessalian himself burned for the slave, for Briseis;
The Mycenaean leader loved the priestess of Phoebus - the slave...
I’m not as famous as Achilles or Tantalus’s son, -
Should I be ashamed of something that did not embarrass kings?
The moment the lady looked at you angrily,
I saw that your face was flushed with color.
Remember how ardently, with what presence of mind I
He swore by Venus herself to dissuade her!
With my heart, goddess, I am pure, my treacherous vows
20 The damp wind was led into the distance of the sea...
Would you please reward me for this service:
Today, dark-skinned woman, you shared my bed again!
Ungrateful! How? Are you shaking your head? Are you afraid?
If you serve two people at once, it is better to serve one.
If, stupid, you refuse me, I will reveal everything to her,
I myself will confess my crime to the judge;
That’s it, Kipassida, I’ll tell you: where and how often we met;
I’ll tell the lady everything: how much we loved and how...
IX
You, Cupid, will never satiate your anger, as you can see.
A carefree boy who has found refuge in my heart!
Why are you offending me? I have never seen your banners
I didn’t leave, and yet I was wounded in my camp!
Why do you scorch your friends with fire and pierce them with arrows?
Indeed, it is a great honor to defeat enemies in battle...
That Haemonian hero, having pierced his friend with his spear,
Didn’t you immediately provide him with medical services?
The hunter pursues the game, but only catches it, usually
10 He abandons the beast, but rushes to new prey.
We, your humble people, receive blows from you.
And your lazy bow spares rebellious enemies...
Why dull arrows on skin and bones? With love
Unfortunately, I have long since been turned into skin and bones.
How many men live without love and how many women?
You better defeat them - you will deserve a glorious triumph.
Rome, whenever it would not send huge hordes to the world,
It would have remained a village with a row of thatched roofs...
A warrior, when he is tired, receives a plot of land.
20 In old age, a racehorse grazes idly in the meadows,
In the long docks stand ships brought from the sea,
And the gladiator's sword was replaced with a wooden one.
This means that for me, a servant in the ranks of love and women,
It's time to resign so you can live a carefree life.
IXa
If “Live without love!” Some god will tell me
Oh, I’ll pray: woman is such a sweet evil.
As soon as I get fed up, as soon as the burning of passion stops,
The whirlwind is rushing the poor soul somewhere again.
So, if the horse bolts, rushes headlong towards the master,
A foam-covered bridle cannot hold a horse.
So close to the land, at the entrance to a safe harbor,
A storm and a sudden gust into the sea carries away the ship.
This is how I always chase Cupid away with my wrong breath!
10 Again the ruddy Cupid aims with a familiar arrow.
Well, shoot! I have laid down my weapons, I stand naked.
In these battles you are strong, your hand never fails.
As if by order, arrows hit me without missing. -
I have become more familiar to them than their usual quiver.
Thrice unhappy is he who can withstand inaction
The whole night and will consider sleep as the best reward.
Silly! What is sleep, if not the cold likeness of death?
By the will of heaven we will enjoy long peace...
If only the lips of a friend, a dear liar, would lie to me, -
20 Hope would have given me much joy.
Let him chat with me affectionately, start quarrels,
Either he quenches my ardor, or he rejects my pleas.
Mars is changeable, but his playful stepson is to blame for this, -
Only following his example does Mars draw his sword.
You are windy, boy, you are much more windy than your wings:
The joy of giving and taking away from us is all your whim.
If you heed my request with the divine mother,
Establish your kingdom in my heart forever.
Let women - a frivolous host - recognize the ruler, -
30 Then you will be honored in the world by them and by us.
X
XIII
Corinna recklessly tore away the burden of her womb
And, exhausted, he lies down. Death fights life in her.
She secretly decided on a dangerous task; I have the right
To be angry... Only my anger is less than my fear for her.
Still, she suffered - from me, I believe.
However, sometimes I am ready to consider the possible as true...
Mother Isis, whose land is the fertile arable land of Kanopa,
And Paretopium, and Far with groves of palm trees, and Memphis.
Whose plains are these, where the Nile, rolling down its wide bed,
10 For a whole week the gates to the sea are carried away by the wave!
By your sistrom I conjure you and Anubis by the face:
May the honest Osiris honor your sacraments forever,
Let not the snake slither hastily around the offerings,
Horned Apis is walking next to you in the procession!
Turn your gaze here, have mercy on two of them:
Return life to the lady, and she will return it to me.
Often in Isidian days she served you in the temple,
Meanwhile, the Gaul-priests stained your laurel with blood.
You always feel sorry for pregnant women who
20 The hidden weight strained the waist that had lost its flexibility.
Be supportive, listen, O Ilithyia, to the fervent prayers!
Believe me, she is worthy of your generous mercies,
In white robes I myself will add incense to your altar,
According to my vow, I will lay down the gifts at the bright feet.
I will add the inscription to them: “Nazon - for saving Corinna.”
Oh, encourage, I pray, my inscription and gifts!
If in such fear one can advise, - Corinna,
Never start fights like this again!
XIV
Do women really benefit from not participating in battles?
And with a shield they do not march in rough soldier formation,
If, without war, they wound themselves with their own weapons,
Do they blindly take up the sword, at war with their own lives?
The one who set the example of throwing away a tender embryo -
It would be better if she died in a battle with herself!
If in ancient times mothers liked to do this,
The entire human race would perish with such evil!
Again we would have to look for the one who in the desert world
10 He would throw stones, conceiving people again.
Who would crush the power of Priam, if Thetis
The goddess of the sea didn’t want to wear her fruit?
If Elijah had not left twins in her tight stomach,
Who would then have founded this powerful City?
If Venus had destroyed Aeneas in her womb,
Then the land would not have to know the Caesars in the future.
You would die the same way, even though you could have been born beautiful,
If only my mother had dared to do what you did.
I myself, who is destined to die of love, completely
20 I would not have been born if my mother had not wished.
Is it possible to pick an unripe bunch from a grapevine?
Is it possible to pick off unripe fruit with a cruel hand?
They will fall off on their own when they are ripe. Let the born develop.
It's worth a little patience if the reward is life
Why sting the womb with some special weapon?
How to poison unborn children with deadly poison?
Everyone blames the Colchian woman, stained with the blood of babies;
Everyone feels sorry for Itis: his mother ruined him.
They are mother animals. But each had a sad reason:
30 Both took revenge on their husbands by shedding the blood of their children.
Tell me, what kind of Tereus or Jason motivates you?
With a trembling, embarrassed hand, strike your body?
Tigers have never done this in Armenian lairs;
Would a lioness dare to destroy her offspring?
Women sin this way, even if they are tender, and retribution awaits them:
Often a woman who kills a fetus dies herself -
She dies - when they carry her to the fire, having dissolved
Hair, everyone in the crowd shouts loudly: “Serves it right!”
Let the heat dissolve again in the vastness of the ether!
40 Let my predictions become just an empty sound!
Good gods, allow her to sin just once without harm...
But enough: then let him bear the punishment.
XV
Decorate your finger, ring, for my dear beauty.
This is a gift of love, that is its whole value.
Be nice to her. Oh, may she gladly accept my gift,
Let him put it on his finger right away.
Be as suitable for her as she is suitable for me.
Be comfortable for her, don’t press her thin finger.
Happiness to you! My lady will amuse herself with you, -
Having given him a gift, I myself began to envy him...
If only with her magic she turned me into that ring
10 Virgin Eei or you, old man of the Carpathian depths!
I should wish to touch my beloved's breasts
Or penetrate her dress with your left hand,
I would slip off my finger, even though I was squeezing it tightly,
Having miraculously expanded, I would have fallen into her lap.
Or serving as a seal for her secret letters, -
So that the wax from the tablets does not stick to the pebble, -
I would first press myself against the beauty's wet lips...
I just wish I could seal the letters for myself!..
If my beloved wants to put me in a casket,
20 I’ll refuse, I’ll squeeze my finger tighter with the ring...
May I never, my life, become a burden to you,
Let your finger always carry its load with ease.
Without taking me off, bathe in heated water,
It doesn't matter if the stream hits the gem...
You will be naked... And my flesh will leap with desire...
Being a ring, I will still finish my job...
What's the use of dreaming?.. Go, my humble gift
Its meaning is clear: I offer you loyalty as a gift.
XVIII
You, leading your song, have already approached Achilles' wrath
And you clothe oath-bound men in armor,
I, O Macr, am lazy under the secluded shadow of Venus,
The gentle Cupid breaks all the big plans.
How many times “Move away, don’t disturb me!” I told my friend
But she immediately sits on my lap!
Or “I’m ashamed...” I’ll say, and my dear almost bursts into tears.
"Woe is me! - he whispers, - you have become ashamed of my love...
He will wrap his arms around my neck and with a thousand hot kisses
10 Suddenly they fall on my face, and I die from them!
I am defeated, inspiration distracts me from fighting:
I am a singer of home battles, I glorify my exploits.
I still held the scepter as best I could, and yet the tragedy
I moved, I could cope with this difficulty.
Cupid ridiculed my cloak, and my colored buskins, and my scepter:
I grabbed him early and with an unworthy hand!
The willful beauty was taken aside by the will
And I forgot about buskins: Cupid reigned in triumph.
I do what I can: I teach the science of love
20 (Woe! I myself am depressed by my teaching!),
Or I’m imagining how Penelope sends news to Ulysses,
Or like by the sea, alone, tears, Phyllida, you shed. -
Everything that Paris, Macareus and Jason is alien to gratitude,
They will read, Ippolit and Ippolitov's father;
Everything that Dido would say in grief when she drew her sword
Or Lesbos's daughter, Aeolia's lyre's friend.
Soon you, my Sabin, have traveled all over the world and returned,
I brought letters and answers from distant lands!
This means that Penelope identified the seal of Ulysses as correct,
30 Stepmother Phaedra read what Hippolytus wrote;
The pious Aeneas answered Elissa beautifully:
There is also a letter to Phyllida... if Phyllida is alive!
Sad lines reached Jason;
Dear Phoebe, give the lyre to the temple, lesbian!..
Yet in your verses, O Macr, singer of battles,
Sometimes the golden-haired Cupid gives a voice:
There is Paris and the wife who gained fame through infidelity,
And Laodamia, who took her husband’s death after...
I know you well: you sing of love more readily,
40 Rather than scolding, you are moving to my camp!
XIX
If you, fool, consider it unnecessary to guard your wife,
At least be a watchman for me, so that I burn hotter!
There is no taste in what is permitted, prohibition excites more acutely;
Only a rude person can love what another allows.
We are lovers, we desire both hopes and fears,
Let sometimes rejection fuel our ardor.
What good luck do I have in love if success is guaranteed in advance?
I don't like anything that doesn't promise torment.
This characteristic taste of evil is noticed by Corinna, -
10 She’s cunning, she knows the best way to catch me.
Oh, she pretended more than once, citing a headache!
How I hesitated then, how I didn’t want to leave...
Oh, how many times has she accused me, and the innocent culprit
Reluctantly, he looked as if he was really guilty.
So, having deceived me and fanned the hot flame,
Again I was ready to answer the passionate pleas.
How many tendernesses for me, and kind words wasted!
And she kissed me - gods! - oh, how much and how!
Likewise you, who recently captivated my gaze,
Be deceitful with me more often, refuse me more often,
20 More often make me lie on your doorstep.
To endure the cold for a long time at night at your door.
This is how love only grows stronger, it matures in the exercise of duty,
This is what I demand, this is what passion feeds on.
I get bored with unhindered, insipid love:
It’s as if I ate too much sweets and that’s why I feel nauseous.
If Danae's father had not hidden him in an iron tower,
It would hardly bear fruit from the Thunderer,
Vigilantly Juno vomited the horned heifer - Io, -
30 And Io was doubly dearer to the Thunderer.
He who loves to own what is available, let him cut off
Leaves from the trees, let it draw water from the rivers.
A woman can only keep her lover by deception...
How much advice, alas, I give against myself!
Others don’t object, but I’m sick of connivance:
They look for me - I run, but when they run away, I chase.
You, who are too confident in your beauty,
It’s better to lock the entrance when night falls.
Yes, finally find out who is knocking on the door every now and then
40 Secretly, why do dogs rattle in the silence of the night?
What kind of signs does the nimble maid quietly carry,
And why does the lady often spend the night alone?
Let anxiety penetrate you to the marrow of your bones, -
Give me a reason to show my dexterity at least once.
He'd rather steal the sand on the deserted coastline,
Who in his foolishness loves the wife of a fool.
I warn you: if you blindly believe your wife
If you don’t stop, she will stop being mine.
I endured a lot of things, I hoped that I could,
50 No matter how you keep it, it will still get around you.
You, impassive, are ready to endure what is intolerable to your husband:
You allow everything - and now I can’t love.
So, unfortunate thing, I will never know a ban?
Will you never wait for the threatening revenge at night?
Fear of not knowing? Not sighing through sleep, not worrying about anything?
Won't you give me a reason to wish for your death?
What do I need in my wife? What do I need a pliable pimp?
With your vicious temper you are ruining my happiness.
You should find someone else who loves you patiently...
60 If you want to call me a rival, forbid it!
Book three
I
An ancient forest rises, which has not seen an ax for centuries.
You involuntarily believe that it is the secret refuge of a deity.
A sacred key in the forest and a cave with pumice icicles,
And the tender complaints of birds are heard from everywhere.
There, when I was wandering in the shade under the leaves of a tree
Wondering where the Muse will direct my work now.
I suddenly see Elegy: fragrant curls in a knot.
Only one of her legs seems to be shorter:
Of wondrous beauty, with a lively face, in the finest clothes, -
10 Even the deformity of her leg only beautified her.
The imperious one suddenly approached and Tragedy walked with long strides,
Her hair hung menacingly over her forehead; cloak to the ground.
With her left hand she waved the royal scepter,
Her slender shins were squeezed by buskin belts.
She was the first to say: “When will you stop loving?
You, who do not bend your ear to my admonitions?
They talk about your adventures at drunken parties,
In crowded places they talk, at any crossroads,
People in the crowd often started pointing fingers at the poet:
20 “Here is the one whom the cruel Cupid burned with passion!”
Don’t you yourself notice that you are becoming the proverb of Rome...
Aren't you ashamed to divulge everything about yourself?
It’s time to sing about the most important things, to be inspired by the Bacchic thyrsus, -
It's enough time to waste, start working harder!
You are degrading your gift. Keep up with the deeds of heroes!
You will say: the current work suits you better -
Enough of the funny poems that you managed to write for the girls;
Your tunes were in harmony with your early youth.
Now you owe the glory to the Roman tragedy,
30 And your inspiration will fulfill my will!”
So she ended her speech in her theatrical buskins
And she shook her head, in a lush headdress of curls.
And, looking sideways at her, Elegy smiled, I see -
She held the myrtle, I remember, in her right hand.
“Why do you blame me, proud Tragedy, with speech
Important? - said. - Can you really not be important?
You didn’t disdain to express yourself in unequal verse.
You, competing with me, used my size?
No, I don’t dare compare majestic poems with mine,
40 Your palace overshadows my humble entrance.
I am flighty, and Cupid is dear to me, he is flighty too,
The subject I have chosen is based on my talents.
God's playful mother would be rather rude without me,
I was born to be her faithful companion.
Still, in some ways I am stronger than you: I am
I can bear it, which makes your eyebrows frown.
The door that you cannot open with a heavy buskin,
I open easily with my frisky chatter.
Did I teach Corinna how to deceive the guard?
50 And to incline the loyalty of reliable castles to treason,
Secretly get out of bed, untying the belt of your shirt,
And in the silence of midnight, step silently?
Little did I hang a sign on cruel doors,
Without being afraid that every passerby will read me!
I also remember how more than once, hiding in the bosom of a slave,
Was I waiting for the fierce watchman to leave?
The barbarian immediately broke me and threw me into the water.
With the seal I raised in you the happy seed of talent.
60 This is my gift... And now she demands it!”
Finished. I said: “I conjure you by yourself
The ear is impartially inclined to words full of humility.
She promises me a high buskin and a scepter for glory -
A majestic sound is ready to leave my lips...
This same one promises immortality to our love... Stay
And keep adding short to long poems!
Just for a little while, grant the singer a reprieve, Tragedy:
Work on you is for centuries, fleeting is dearer to her...”
And she agreed... Hurry up, love songs!
70 There is still time - and there more majestic work awaits.
IV
You assigned a watchman, strict husband, to your young friend.
Enough! A woman needs to take care of herself.
If the wife is not flawless because of fear, then she is truly flawless,
And under the ban, although she does not sin, she is a sinner...
You keep your body clean, but your soul is still an adulteress...
A woman cannot be protected against her wishes.
No gates can save a woman’s soul:
It seems that everything is locked - and the seducer has penetrated!
They sin less if they can sin; permission to betray
10 The secret dream itself dulls the poignancy.
Believe me, husband: stop encouraging vice with prohibitions, -
You'll beat him better if you give in to him.
I once saw a horse: he did not want to obey the bridle
And, biting the bit, the lightning rushed faster, -
But he obeyed and stood up, feeling that on his tousled mane
Soft reins lie that the bridle has weakened.
Everything that is forbidden attracts; we thirst for what is not commanded.
As soon as the doctor forbids it, the patient asks for a drink...
There were a hundred eyes on Argus’s forehead, a hundred on the back of his head, -
20 Yet Cupid - and only he - often accompanied him.
To Danae's strong sleeping chamber of iron and stone
They brought her in as an innocent virgin, and there she became a mother.
And Penelope, although there was no guard,
Still, she remained pure among the young suitors.
We want more what the other protects. Attracts
The thief is the guard herself. Rarely available is happy.
A woman is often attracted not by her beauty, but by her husband’s passion:
Apparently there is something in her that tied him...
Don't be honest when you're locked up - by cheating, you'll be nicer.
30 The excitement of love is sweeter than the possession of beauty.
Let them be indignant, forbidden bliss is sweeter to us,
The only one who will captivate our hearts is the one who babbles: “I’m afraid!”
By the way, it is not allowed to keep free women under lock and key.
This is how they frighten some foreign slaves.
If her watchman has the right to say: my merit, they say... -
So the slave should be praised for her innocence!
He is truly a simpleton who cannot stand his girlfriend's betrayal,
And he is not familiar enough with the customs of Rome.
After all, at the beginning of it - the illegitimate children of Mars:
40 Romulus was born by Elijah, and Remus was born by the same Elijah.
And what does beauty have to do with it if you are looking for chastity?
Believe me, these qualities cannot be combined in any way.
If you are smart, be lenient towards your wife and don’t frown,
Stop applying your formidable husband's rights to her.
Greet your wife's best friends (there will be many of them!) -
The work is not great, but it will fully reward you.
You will become a regular participant in youth feasts,
At home, without spending, you will accumulate a lot of goods.
VII
Isn't she beautiful, this woman? Isn't it graceful?
Or has it always not attracted my ardent desires?
In vain, however, I held her, weakened, in my arms,
I was a shameful burden of the limp bed of love.
Even though I wanted her and she answered my desires,
There was no strength in me, my will was dormant.
However, she hugged my neck with her arms
Ivory bones white or Phrygian snows;
Gently teased me with the voluptuous fire of kisses,
10 She tenderly clung to my thigh with her slender thigh.
She spoke so many kind words to me, called me “Mister”,
She kept repeating what arouses passion.
It was as if I had been rubbed with chilling hemlock,
He was half alive, half dead, his muscles had lost their strength.
So I lay there like a stump, like a statue, a useless burden, -
It would be difficult to decide whether I am a body or a shadow?
What should I expect from old age (since old age is destined for me),
If my youth is so betraying itself?
Oh! I am ashamed of my years: after all, I am both a man and young, -
20 But I was not a man, not young that night...
She got out of bed like a priestess going to the temple
Vesta, or like a sister, having parted with her brother...
But just recently with fair-haired Hlida and Liba,
Yes, and with the brilliant Pitot I was worthy of myself,
And, spending a blissful night with the beautiful Corinna,
I was obedient to the will of my mistress in everything.
Has my body sunk, been poisoned by Thessalian poison?
Or am I weakened by the poisonous herb?
Did the witch inscribe my name on crimson wax?
30 And pierced me right into the liver with a needle?
From sorcery, bread becomes fruitless grain,
Because of divination, the water in the springs dries up;
Clusters fall from the vine and acorns from the oak, as soon as
They will be bewitched, and the fruit will fall from the tree.
So why shouldn’t divination deprive us of our bodily power?
That may be why I was powerless that night...
And, of course, shame... And it was an obstacle to the cause,
He was the reason for my second weakness...
But what beauty I saw and touched!
40 So only her shirt is allowed to stick to her body.
From touching him Nestor would become a young man again,
Despite the years, Typhon would become young and strong...
Everything about her suited me - the lover was not suitable...
How can I now resort to requests, to new entreaties?
I think more than that: the gods repented that they gave
I should have beauty, since I disgraced their gift.
I dreamed of being accepted by her - accepted, - allowed;
And kiss? - kissed; to be with her? - and it was.
Even chance helped... But what do I need a power without power?
50 I, like an inveterate miser, disposed of the goods.
So, surrounded by water, Tantalus languishes from thirst
And he will never pick the hanging fruits nearby...
So only he leaves the bed of a young beauty,
Who goes to the temple to appear before the gods...
Didn't she give me hot and tender kisses?
In vain!.. In any case, didn’t passion excite me?
But the royal oak, and the hard diamond, and the soulless
She could touch the stone with her caress.
All the more so I could touch a living person, a man...
60 But I, I was not alive, I was not a man with her.
Why would Femia sing in front of the deaf?
Can painting captivate Famir the Blind?
How many secret pleasures I promised myself in advance,
How many different fun things my dreams imagined!
Meanwhile my half-dead body lay,
To my shame, yesterday's roses are flabby.
Now again I am vigorous and healthy, not strong in time,
I’m eager to go to work again, I demand a sheaf of dollars.
What a shame then I drooped, the worst of mortals
70 In a matter of love? Why was he embarrassed by himself?
Armed Cupid, you made me unarmed,
You let her down too - I was completely burned with shame!
But my friend stretched out her hands to me,
And she encouraged love with skillful caresses...
But, seeing that my ardor cannot be awakened by any art
And that, having forgotten my duty, I only become weaker,
She said: “Are you kidding me? Against my will
Who told you to climb into my bed, you fool?
Or is the pierced wool the fault of the Eey sorceress,
80 Or are you exhausted, apparently, by love with another... "
A moment - and, sliding out of bed in an unbelted light shirt,
She didn’t hesitate to quickly run away barefoot.
And so that the maids could not find out about her failure,
Wanting to hide her shame, she ordered water to be given.
VIII
Who still honors the now noble arts?
Who would call these tender poems valuable?
In the old days, talent was more precious than gold;
Nowadays you are considered ignorant if you are penniless.
The mistress of my heart liked my books:
The entrance to my books is open, but I myself am not allowed to see my dear one.
Even though she praised me, for the praised the door is locked, -
So I’m hanging around - shame! - together with your talent!
A rich horseman, who recently reached the qualifications for his service,
10 The beast that has drunk blood is now preferred to it.
My life! How can you squeeze his beautiful hands?
How can you, my life, endure his embrace?
Know that his head is accustomed to a military helmet,
Know that the sword girded his body, clinging to you;
Left hand with a gold ring, only recently earned
He held the shield; touch the right one: it’s covered in blood!
Are you able to touch the hand that killed someone?
Woe! After all, before you were sensitive at heart!
Just look at the scars, at the signs of experienced battles, -
20 He obtained with his body alone everything that he now has.
He'll probably start bragging about how many people he's killed, -
Still, you touch his hand, greedy one!
I, Phoebe and Muses, are the purest clergyman,
At the unyielding doors I compose poems in vain!
Smart people, why do you need our careless science?
We need the anxiety of battles, the rough life of camps.
What to improve a verse? Bring out the first hundred!..
Just wish you could succeed like that, Homer!
Knowing that there is nothing omnipotent about money, Jupiter
30 With the virgin, led into temptation, he paid with himself:
Without gold, my father was harsh, and she herself was inaccessible,
The tower had an iron vein, the doors were made of cast copper.
But only the intelligent seducer turned himself into ducats,
The virgin, ready for anything, immediately took off her clothes.
In the age when the old Saturn reigned in the heavens,
The earth jealously guarded many riches in its depths.
Gold and silver and copper and iron were hidden
Near the kingdom of shadows - they weren’t hoarded then.
Either earthly gifts: wheat that did not know the plow;
40 Honeycombs, accessible to everyone, in oak hollows; fruit...
At that time no one cut the earth with a mighty coulter,
The land surveyor did not separate fields from fields.
The oar immersed in the water did not plow through the swells,
To everyone, the shore seemed like the edge of the sea.
You have been tempted against yourself, human nature,
And your talent has become your misfortune.
Why do we build walls and towers around cities?
Why arm the hands of mutual hostility?
What do you need the sea for? Man, be content with dry land.
50 Do you imagine turning heaven into your third kingdom?
And why not, when they are awarded temples
Liber, Romulus, Alcides, Caesar recently?
We do not expect harvests from the land, we are looking for gold.
A warrior lives in wealth obtained with his blood.
The poor do not enter the Curia: honor is conditioned by their condition. -
The horseman is therefore a strict and unyielding judge...
Let them at least take everything - both the Champ de Mars and the Forum;
Let them rule the world and a terrible war, -
If only they wouldn’t rob us, if only they wouldn’t steal our love:
60 If only they would give the poor people something to own...
Now, if the wife is similar to the stern Sabina,
She is held captive by the one who is more generous with money.
The watchman won’t let me in: she’s trembling for me, they say, because of her husband.
And if I pay, both the watchman and the husband will leave immediately!
If some god takes revenge on the deprived of lovers,
May he erase unseemly riches into dust!
IX
If the mother wept over Memnon and the mother over Achilles,
If the blows of fate touch the highest goddesses, -
Let down your hair, mournful elegy, now:
Now, by right, alas, you bear your name.
Tibullus, called to song by you, your pride and glory, -
Now senseless ashes on a blazing fire.
You see, the child of Venus holds her quiver overturned;
His bow was also broken, the shining torch went out;
The wings are drooping, look! How much pity the boy deserves!
10 With a fierce hand he beats himself on the bare chest;
The curls fall to the shoulders, wet from the tears flowing;
Crying shakes him, sobs are heard in his mouth...
Also, legend says, when Brother Aeneas was carried away,
He came out of your palace, most beautiful Yul...
Ah, when Tibullus died, Venus was no less darkened,
Than at the hour when the boar pierced the young man’s groin...
We singers, they say, are sacred, protected by the gods;
According to others, we even have a divine spirit...
But everything that is holy is desecrated by unbidden death,
20 Invisibly from the darkness she reaches out her hands to everything.
How much did mother and father help the Ismarian Orpheus?
What good is it that he pacified the animals by singing?
Lin - from the same father, and yet, according to legend, about Lin
Lyra, full of sadness, sang in the depths of the forest.
And add the Meonian - from it, as from an eternal spring,
The mouths of the singers drink the current of the Pierian stream.
However, Avernus, too, was plunged into black by death...
Only the songs of the greedy can escape the fires,
The works of singers live forever: and the siege of Troy,
30 And the canvas that cunningly blossomed again in the night...
So, Nemesis and Delia's name will endure forever, -
He sang the first love, he sang the last one too.
What are the sacrifices and sisters of Egypt? What's the use
Should we keep our chaste bed clean?..
If fate takes away the best, forgive me for my insolence,
I am ready to doubt the existence of gods.
Be righteous, and you will die, even though you are righteous; holy temples
Honor, and fierce death will drag you to the grave...
Trust the beautiful verses... but is the glorious Tibullus lifeless?
40 After all, the cramped urn will hold his remains...
Didn’t the flame of the fire carry you away, sacred hymnist?
The fire was not afraid to feed on your flesh.
This means that it is capable and the golden temples of the gods
Burn it, since, alas, such a sacrilegious sin has been committed.
The mistress of the Eritsin sanctuaries herself turned her gaze away
And - they add - I couldn’t hold back my tears...
Still, it’s more gratifying than the glory and honors of strangers
On the Phaeacian shores, lie down in the unfavorable ground.
Here at least she closed the dim eyes of him as he was leaving.
50 The mother also brought gifts, bidding him farewell to the ashes.
My sister was nearby, sharing her mother’s grief,
She tore out strands of careless hair with her hands in grief.
Nemesis was here... and the first... that... They kissed
Your lips never left the fire for a moment.
And before leaving, Delia said: “Happiness
You knew more with me, this was your life!”
But Nemesis responded: “What are you saying? My woe to you!
He, dying, held me with a weak hand.”
If not one name and not one shadow remains from mortals,
60 That in Champs Elysees there will be Tibullah shelter.
There to meet him, crowning his young brow
Go out with your laurels, with your Calf, learned Catullus!
Come out, since you are falsely accused of betraying your friend,
Gall, who did not know how to spare his blood and soul!
Their shadows will be with you, since the shadows of bodies exist.
You have increased their pious host, Tibullus.
Peaceful bones - I pray - may they rest in a safe urn.
To the dust, Tibullus, let the earth be to your light.
XI
I endured a lot, for a long time, - the patience of betrayal was overcome.
Get away from the tired chest, the shameful fire of passion!
It's over! Once again I found freedom, broke my chains, -
I wore them without shame; now I am ashamed that I wore them.
I have won, I am finally trampling love underfoot.
I matured late, my horns grew late!
Carry on and be strong. Suffering will justify itself -
A sick person was often healed by drinking bitter drinks.
I endured everything, endured being chased away from the threshold,
10 That, humiliating myself, I slept on the bare ground.
For the sake of another, the one who enjoyed in your arms,
I could, like a slave, guard a tightly closed house!
I saw a tired lover coming out of the door, -
Thus, a disabled person who has been honored in battles barely walks.
It’s even worse that he noticed me coming out of the door, -
My evil enemy would suffer so much shame!
Has there ever been a time when I didn’t go for a walk next to you,
Am I, your beloved, your guide and guardian?
Apparently, everyone liked you: it’s not for nothing that I praised you, -
20 Through our love you have gained the love of many...
Oh, why remember the baseness of the treacherous language?
You, swearing to the gods, lied to my death!
And with young people at feasts there are glances and signs,
This conventional language, obscuring the meaning of words?..
Since you said you were sick, I run beside myself, I come running,
What? Whether you are sick or not, my opponent knew better...
That's what I'm used to putting up with, and I kept silent about a lot of things...
Now look for someone else who would endure for me!
Late! Already my ship, entwined with flowers according to the vow,
30 He fearlessly listens to the sound of a sea of surging waves...
In vain, stop wasting me, those who conquered me before
Affections and speeches - now I'm not such a fool...
Love and hate still fight in the chest... Both
They are pulling me towards themselves, but already... I feel... love will win!
I will begin to hate... and if I love, it will be against my will:
A bull walks under a yoke, even though he hates the yoke.
I run away from betrayals, - beauty brings me back from flight;
An unworthy character is disgusting, but a sweet body attracts.
So, I am unable to live either with you or apart from you,
40 I myself am not able to comprehend my desires.
If only you were not so good or not so treacherous!
How inappropriate your disposition is to this wonderful beauty!
Your actions are vile, but your appearance invites you to love...
Woe! Her vices are inferior to her.
Have pity! I pray to you with the rights of our common bed,
By all the gods (oh, let them endure your deceptions!),
With this beautiful face, an omnipotent deity for me,
Have pity, for the sake of the eyes, the eyes that have captivated mine:
Be anyone, but mine, forever mine... Judge,
50 Do you want free or forced love?
Time to raise the sails and give in to the winds:
After all, no matter what, I will be forced to love!..
XIV
You are good, I don’t demand an innocent life from you,
In my grief I thirst only to know nothing.
I don’t want to force you to be modest with strict supervision;
My request is one thing: at least seem modest!
She who denies her own depravity is not yet vicious -
Only by admitting the guilt of women is honor tarnished.
What madness: to reveal during the day what is hidden at night,
To speak loudly about everything that happened in silence?
Even the harlot, giving herself to anyone,
10 The doors will be bolted so that no one can enter.
You divulge your adventures to malicious rumors, -
That is, you expose your misdeeds yourself!
Be more prudent, at least imitate those who are bashful.
You won't be honest, but I will believe in your honesty.
Let be! Live as you lived, but deny your behavior,
Don't be ashamed to talk modestly in front of people.
Where debauchery is a haven, indulge yourself in pleasures with all your might;
If you end up there, feel free to banish shyness.
But as soon as she left there, the trace of obscenity would disappear.
20 Let only your bed know about your vices!
There - don’t be ashamed of anything, don’t be shy, take off your shirt
And boldly press your thigh against the man’s thigh.
There, let your tongue penetrate your scarlet lips,
May love find thousands of sweet joys there,
Let the speeches of love and words of encouragement not be silent there,
Let the bed there tremble with voluptuous amusements.
But as soon as you get dressed, take on a virtuous appearance again.
Let external modesty belie shame...
Lie to people and to me; allow me not to know, to be mistaken,
30 Let me be trusting, let a fool enjoy...
Oh, why do you receive and write notes in front of me?
Why is the bed in your bedroom rumpled and torn up?
Why do you come out to me disheveled, but not half asleep?
Why do I see a tooth mark on your neck?
It’s not enough to change in front of my eyes, frankly...
If you don’t spare your honor, at least spare mine.
You confess everything - and I faint, I die,
Every time a chill runs through my veins...
Yes, I love, I can’t help but love, and yet I hate;
40 Yes, sometimes I want death... but with you!
I won’t fix the investigation, I won’t insist if
You will become secretive with me, as if there is nothing...
Even if I accidentally capture a moment of betrayal,
If I see my own shame with my own eyes,
I will later deny that I saw it with my own eyes,
Your eyes will give way to your doubts in a dispute.
Is it difficult to defeat someone who longs to be defeated!
Just don’t forget to say: “I’m not guilty,” and that’s all.
Three words will be enough for you to win your case:
50 The law does not justify, but the judge acquits.
XV
Call new poets, O mother of love pleasures!
I have reached the extreme point in the race of my elegies,
Created by me, a singer, nourished by the fields of peligni.
These amusements of mine did not put me to shame.
Ancient grandfather's rights - if we take this into account - the heir,
I am not listed among the horsemen because of military storms.
The glory of Mantua is Maro, Catullus glorified Verona,
They will now call me the glory of the Peligni, -
Those who defended their freedom with honest weapons
10 In the days when Rome trembled, fearing the allied army.
Now a stranger, having seen Sulmon, abundant in moisture,
Walls that enclose a modest piece of land,
He will say: “If you gave us such a poet,
No matter how small you are, I still call you great.”
Honored boy and you, Amathusia, honored mother,
I ask mine to remove the gold badges from the field.
Liei shakes the two-horned Thyrsus with his stern,
He tells me to run the horses in a wider field.
Meek verse of elegy! Playful Muse, farewell!
20 After my death, my work will live.